The Fire Crested Wren
by SilverBlueMoon
Summary: What happens when a Head Gamemaker falls in love with one of the tributes? This is the story of Galen and Wren, the Gamemaker who fell for a District Six tribute.
1. The Reaping

**Hello everyone! Thank you for reading this! The Fire-Crested Wren is not my first fanfiction, but it is my first published story. It is, however, the first time I've written a story in third-person. Constructive criticisim is appreciated. That is all that I have to say...so enjoy, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

* * *

Wren POV:

Wren walked slowly along the path, admiring the fire-crested wrens that fluttered over her head. Fingering the pendant she wore over her neck, she wondered for the millionth time what this year's Hunger Games would be like, and calculated her chances for being chosen. She desperately hoped that the reaping would not call her name this year, as that meant certain death. It had been so long since a tribute from district six had been victor, half a decade at least.

A single wren sung a low, melancholy tune from an overhanging branch.

She shivered in foreboding and tightened her arms around the precious food she had picked up at the market, all while picking up her pace to go home. The last pink glow of dawn was rapidly disappearing, replaced with the pale blue of the early morning sky. For once, the factories were not spewing gray smoke into the air, the workers at home, preparing for the nightmare that would occur within the next few hours.

Now Wren approached the suburbs where her family lived. The dilapidated wood frame houses sported peeling paint in various shades of gray and brown. A few braver souls cultivated small vegetable gardens among the thin soil that could barely support the blades of grass that sprouted in the unpaved streets.

She paused in front of her own home, sighing. The tiny three-room establishment was hardly large enough to support her two older siblings and two younger ones. They were the only ones that lived there. A few years back, when the twins were only a few years old, a factory had caught fire. Only a hundred or so of the five hundred workers had made it out alive. Their parents had not been in that group.

Margie, then eighteen, had taken over the running of the household. She worked long hours to make ends meet, and made their sixteen year old brother, Thom, do likewise. Both of them had lived in a perpetual state of exhaustion. Ten year old Wren had gotten herself work as a seamstress, creating clothes for some of the more well-to-do folk of six who were not quite rich enough to afford the better quality of products from district eight. This job had allowed her to remain at home, caring for the five year old twins, Lissa and Elsren.

This year, they would be entered for the first time in the Reaping. Wren was seventeen and had seven entries that year, a relatively small number when compared with the poorest of the district. She was determined to never sign up for the tessera rations, to keep her chances to get drawn as slim as possible.

The hours passed quickly, and before she knew it, Wren was helping her young siblings dress for the reaping. Lissa was swathed in a pale pink dress that Wren had fashioned from the scraps of cloth one of her clients had given her. Elsren was dressed up in an old outfit of Thom's; black trousers, beige tunic, and black leather shoes. Luckily, Elsren was unusually large, so the clothes had needed very little tailoring. At twelve, Elsren was already up to his older sister's shoulders.

With her charges properly clothed, Wren turned to her own appearance. She donned an olive-green dress that she had created several years back to serve as her reaping clothes, ran a brush through her long hair, and glared at her reflection. Wren's thin frame was rather tall. She was taller than most of her female friends and some of her male friends, with long, lanky limbs that still somehow managed to radiate grace. Her long, oval face sported fair skin like flower petals, red lips, and large amber eyes framed by tumbling hair the bright red color of rust. A small, grim smile that exposed only her top teeth flashed across her heart-shaped lips.

The five siblings trudged wearily to the city square, where a rickety wooden stage had been erected for the purpose of that day's events. A small middle aged woman with a bright purple wig and matching eyes looked over a crowd with a lightly glazed look. Maggie Lear was too caught up in the excitement of the Hunger Games to realize that her audience had assembled around her.

Glancing about in worry, Wren caught sight of Phobos. At eighteen, he towered a full half head over the second tallest boy of his age. His brown hair fell over his coffee-colored eyes in a manner that made her heart pound and face flush red. In the older days, back when both of them had gone to school, Wren had done all she could to sit next to him at lunch and class. Sadly, he had regularly been surrounded by a giant throng of friends and admirers, which formed an almost impenetrable wall between him and Wren.

She had no time to reflect on this however, for the crowd was called to attention. Maggie fished about the bowl and fished out a name. Instantly, Wren was filled with horrifying visions of both her younger brother and sister being chosen, of then being forced to fight each other to death…

"Wren Heartwood!"

No. No_. This cannot be happening_, Wren thought, her feet fused to the ground. She felt somebody next to her grab hold of her trembling hand and squeeze it. Though she never saw the face of the one who did it, the momentary action gave her comfort. With a deep breath, Wren took a small, unstable step. Pausing, she straightened her shoulders and strode confidently forward. Underneath her brave façade, however, her mind was a whirling void of fear.

Only heartbeats after Wren managed to reach the stage, the male tribute's name was called. For a moment, Wren could not register the meaning of the syllables uttered by Maggie. Then the horrified whispers of the older girls reached her ears, and Wren understood. Phobos. They had called Phobos to be her fellow tribute. Wren wanted to crawl under a stone and weep, but that action was forbidden to her. So instead she stared into the distance with a piercing glare that she had perfected years ago, disregarding the audience that seemed to her like a single, unthinking beast.

"Let's hear it for this year's tributes!" Maggie trilled. A loud, if somewhat reluctant, roar of applause rose from the amassed bodies that crowded the city square.

In that instant, Wren felt all of her ties to the people of district six snap. Suddenly, she was floundering in the middle of the ocean, and the rope that she desperately clung to cut.

Wren closed her eyes slowly, painfully. When she opened them again, the people of district six were no longer her family and friends, neighbors and acquaintances. They were a hungry beast that craved her blood.

When she was herded into the city hall, Wren went gratefully, never once looking back.

* * *

**Galen POV**

Galen stared at the television screen in front of him, unable to tear his eyes away from the bright image of the stage. With a casual flick of his hand, he paused the transmission of the reapings across all twelve districts to take a closer glance at the red-haired girl who stood on the platform.

There was just something special about this girl…she had grandeur, a quiet dignity that was impossible to mistake.

A smile tugged across his lips as he considered how to dispose of this particular tribute. The district six contestants had never been known for their survival skills, though they did provide a wonderful source of entertainment.

That was one of the advantages of being a Gamemaker, he thought wryly. Here in the control room, he had absolute control over the tributes of the Hunger Games. As the youngest person ever to hold his post, Galen was determined to give the citizens of Panem a show the likes of which had never been seen before.

Glancing for the millionth time at the diagrams of this year's arena spread over his desk, he picked up a dull pencil and added in some last-minute details to the plans.

His vision still flickered with afterimages of fire-bright hair and bright golden eyes, despite his best efforts to distil the sight from his memory.


	2. Trains and Parades

Wren POV:

There was something about trains that just horrified Wren; she realized the moment it departed from the station. The thunderous clatter of the wheels on the metal track put her nerves on edge, and the ominous pounding of pouring rain that had begun about two hours after pulling away from the station caused the train to lurch sickenly every few meters.

During dinner, she gorged herself on a meal of warm rolls dipped in heavily seasoned oils, a bowl of thick beef stew, mashed potatoes, and portion after portion of rich meat that melted in her mouth. A bowl of ice cream later, Wren was beginning to regret the lavish meal that she had just enjoyed. Seconds later, she rushed into the restroom in her apartment and was violently sick.

A short time later, an almost silent set of footsteps sounded behind her. "I remember the first time I had Capitol food," the voice behind her said.

With a gasp, Wren whirled around, whipping her mouth hurriedly. Her mentor, Freya, stood behind her, a glass of water in one hand and a couple of pills in another.

At thirty one years old, Freya still looked much as she had at eighteen, when she won her own Games. Her skin was a pale brown in color, tanned from years' worth of sunlight shinning on her. Her light brown hair was cropped close around her face, and Freya's coffee-colored eyes glimmered with grim intelligence.

She offered her charge the anti-nausea medication after helping her to her feet.

"Come along now, the recap of the reaping is in fifteen minutes, and you know watching is mandatory," she said in her motherly way.

"I don't think I can…" Wren began, but Freya interrupted her.

"You'll be fine. These pills work miracles. But then, of course they would."

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Wren popped the two anti-nausea pills into her mouth, all the while attempting to ignore the wild spinning of the room. Within a few seconds, her stomachache, cramps, dizziness and headache all vanished, leaving barely a trace.

Quickly, she brushed her teeth free of any residue from her stomach problems. Then, more deliberately, she removed her stained clothes and put on a clean pair of pale gray trousers and a dusty blue shirt.

Holding her head high, she walked into the compartment to join the others. They were already clustered about on the plush green couch that dominated the room like a dormant beast. They all stared intently at the television that covered the entire wall, eyes huge.

Wren sat down in the one available spot, which happened to be next to Phobos, just as the screen flickered to life.

The seal of the Capitol illuminated the television for a moment while the anthem played before being replaced with footage of district one.

Wren looked interestedly at her fellow tributes, searching their faces for possible allies and identifying the most dangerous competitors.

As always, the Career Tribute pack stuck out in her mind. The two district one tributes had dark blonde hair. The girl had blue eyes, and her male counterpart had dark black irises. Both of them were tall and heavily muscled. The Careers from two had a more varied look. The girl had dark, almost black hair, and eyes that were similar in shade to Wren's own. The boy had amber-colored hair and brown eyes. The two from district four had hair in shades of gold and golden-red, and their eyes were the blue-green color of the ocean that many residents of the fishing district had.

Wren frowned slightly as she stared at them, her mind, oddly detached, calculating her own chances of survival.

Not many of the other tributes stuck in Wren's mind. The tall, willowy girl from district seven resembled a tree herself. The male tribute from ten was even larger and more heavily built than some of the Career tributes. The girl from twelve was pitiful to look at. The frail thirteen year old was painfully thin, so much so that Wren wondered how it was that she did not snap in two. Her thin limbs trembled in the cool air of twelve. Her thin, heart shaped face was almost obscured by a curtain of impossibly long, black hair, so dark it was almost blue. Her perfect olive skin was stretched taut over her bones so tightly that her skull was almost visible, and her enormous blue-gray eyes showed with the innocent, vulnerable look that Wren associated instantly with a doe. The sight of this little, starving girl gave Wren a deep sense of protectiveness. She had always liked little ones, (she had to, that with caring for her younger siblings) and the tribute girl reminded her of what might have happened to her and her family if her older sister and brother had not found employment.

Wren closed her eyes weakly. There, in the darkness behind her eyelids, she realized for the first time that she would in all likelihood die before the month was out.

* * *

Galen POV:

The parade was a huge success, much to the head Gamemaker's delight. The tributes swarmed out in their gleaming chariots in a perfectly orchestrated wave.

His personal favorite was the district one chariot, he realized wryly. The two Career tributes had been painted dark gold in keeping with their natural hair color. False gemstones glittered in their metallic skin in shimmering, abstract patterns that reminded Galen vaguely of fire and wind.

_Deadly_, his mind murmured as he looked at them. He refocused his attention on the other chariots. District five was just now becoming visible. Galen was pleasantly surprised to see how enormous all of the Career tributes were compared with the other tributes. District five was insignificant, and so was six…

He cut off the thought before it could finish. The girl tribute from district six (what was her name again?) looked lovely in a pale mint green shirt and white trousers. She was dressed as a medic from her district, with a necklace of pills and other medical supplies and a belt strung with thin knives and needles.

Galen snorted. The designer just needed to find himself a new district. Pretty as the outfit was, it simply did not illustrate the concept of district six. He would see to it that the designer was removed from his post. He just needed to wait until after the interviews…

Galen was pleased to see that no other districts were as badly represented as six. Well, there was district twelve, whose tributes were wearing nothing but glittery black body paint and clunky headlamps, but nobody expected much of the coal district, so there was no disappointment.

The head Gamemaker released a breath of relief, glad that he would not be replaced. Yet. There were still the actual Games to consider…


	3. Training

Wren POV:

Wren looked hopelessly at the outfit that her stylist had forced her to wear for training. She wore a pair of skintight black leggings and a short-sleeved pink and violet striped tunic that ended just above her knees. She could not believe how horrible her bright red hair looked in the bright pink-purple shirt. Worse, she looked nothing like herself.

With a sigh, she braided her brilliant hair loosely in the back and strode into the elevator. When she saw Phobos, her scowl melted away, and she smiled sweetly. After all, this might be the first chance she ever got to speak with him without interference.

"So, how are you?" she asked him

"Well, aside from the fact that I'm in the Hunger Games, just fine."

"Oh. Right. I suppose that I'm the same then."

He chuckled mirthlessly.

Wren was silent, and remained so until the end of the ride.

Once in the training room, she listened with barely concealed boredom as the Trainers explained the rules of the training room as if none of them had ever heard them before.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the monstrous figures of the six Career tributes whispering quietly in the back. The Trainer, who was almost deaf, did not even hear them.

Soon the training began. Wren wandered about. She had never touched a weapon before, unless a kitchen knife duller than a butter knife counted.

She found that she was horrible beyond belief when it came to throwing knives. The instructor for that section threw her out fifteen minutes in, even though she swore that she had not been aiming for his face. (It was a good thing that all instructors wore full body armor and masks, because otherwise he might have lost an eye.

Archery was not quite as bad as knives had been, she discovered. She could get the arrow within one yard of the intended target.

Heartened by this success, Wren moved on to the javelins and spears. Much to her dismay, she could not pick one of the heavy wooden instruments up without having her arms tremble pitifully.

Dejectedly, she wandered about the cavernous space, searching for a new skill that she might be good at. Not knot-tying, she knew plenty of that already. Camouflage was too easy. Edible plants-well, there was an option. But then again, she could learn that in later days.

Finally, she settled for swords. The trainer looked up skeptically as the tall, long limbed girl walked up to his station. Soon however, he came to the conclusion that he had found the best swordfighter in that year's Games. Wren had a natural talent for the sword, and within as fraction of the morning she was fighting almost as skillfully as any of the Careers. She wanted to stay at that station all day, but common sense told her otherwise. She had already proved to anyone watching that she was deadly with a sword, but she did not want to show off that advantage too much, lest it prove a liability in the arena.

After pausing to consider her options, Wren decided she ought to build up some muscle. She would never survive if she could only pick up a few weapons and supplies in the arena.

The weight trainer gave her some basic instructions and left Wren to work. And work she did. For the next three hours she toiled at building up all of her muscles. It was only after lunch that she realized how limp her limbs had become.

While she had hoped to continue with the weights, Wren realized that she was too tired to do anything other than injure herself. Thus she found herself at the edible plants section, where she could rest her body while picking up valuable information.

That night she went to sleep more exhausted then she could ever remember feeling before.

* * *

Galen POV:

Galen sighed in boredom after the tiny district five girl left in a torrent of tears after tripping in the middle of her private session. After the Career tributes, nothing looked interesting to him. He barely even glanced at the district six boy, feeling an instant dislike of the giant tribute.  
And then a girl walked in. Her shimmering red hair was braided loosely at the back of her neck in a simple style. She wore thin black leggings and a dark blue tunic.

With a mocking bow to the Gamemakers assembled in front of her, the tribute turned around and picked up a bronze sword. The metal blade flickered dully in the brilliant lighting, by far the heaviest of all the like weapons. She swung it about experimentally; then hacked a dummy to pieces in less than thirty seconds. Putting down the heavy blade, she picked up a much lighter one. In just over fifteen seconds, that dummy too was in pieces.

Grinning savagely, Wren picked up two identical blades of average weight and requested an opponent. A trainer stepped out in protective gear. She dodged every one of his strikes, and her own darting arms moved so quickly that Galen could not focus on them.

Within seconds, Wren had disarmed her opponent and was holding both blades crossed in an "X" over his exposed neck.

She stepped away slowly, and her opponent melted away into the corner of the room. Wren turned on her heals to face the Gamemakers in a move more graceful than most people could accomplish. Her pale face was flushed, and her golden amber eyes glittered with a fierce, almost animalistic light. Wren's braid had come undone, and now her lustrous red hair cascaded around her face in a fire-colored waterfall.

Watching her, Galen felt a sudden lurch in his chest and a feeling that was hard to describe. It was as if he was suffocating slowly as he stared at the district six tribute girl.

She bowed a second time and exited the chamber on silent feet.

He watched, entranced by the graceful figure.


	4. Scores

Wren POV:

For the first time that night, Wren managed to eat without feeling sickly afterward. _I must be getting used to Capitol food_, she thought wryly. _Too bad you won't live long enough to enjoy much more of it_, the practical part of her mind muttered.

Only seconds later, it seemed, Wren found herself in front of a television screen as tribute scores flashed up.

She took a shuddering breath as she saw the scores of the Career Tributes. They always scored in the seven-to-ten range, and every one of them got a nine or ten. The tribute girl from five got a two, eliciting a collective moan of pity from the others. Phobos got a seven, and Wren turned to congratulate him. And then her own score came up. 10. Wren gasped in wonder and shock. She had tied with the enormous district one girl and the district two boy, placing her in a three-way tie for highest score.

The crowd hushed until the end of the training scores, and the exploded in a flurry of congratulations.

Phobos looked at her with wide, coffee-colored eyes. "Congratulations," he said. "With a score like that, you'll make a great ally in the Arena."

Wren flushed with pleasure.

* * *

Galen POV:

Galen slammed his face against the wall for the millionth time. Had he made the right choice, giving Wren such a high score? On one hand, the score left a bigger impression on possible sponsors. On the other, he knew that the Careers were quick to take offence and quicker to take revenge. Galen might just have given them their greatest enemy.

How could he protect her? He wondered for the millionth time. Suppose that he wiped out the others with the traps in the arena…but no. The audience wanted a fight. Doing that might get both of them killed. Fine, so he could not interfere too much, but he would do what he could. Nodding slowly, he closed his eyes and formulated yet another plan.


	5. Interviews

Wren POV:

The audience loved her, Wren realized partway through her interview. Flipping back a curl of loose red hair, she flashed a quick smile at her audience. That was her angle – a mixture of confidence and innocence.

Her mind flashed back momentarily to earlier in the day, when she saw her reflection while wearing the interview outfit her stylist had designed. It sported a skirt that ended above her knees in the front and trailed the ground in the back, displaying her athletic legs. The pale amber gown shimmered softly in the light, setting off her golden eyes to perfection. Her red hair had been sprinkled with golden powder, and her eyelids had been brushed with a similar substance. Instead of their usual red, her lips had softened to a glossy copper, and her usually straight hair had been curled with a dozen curling irons.

When she had seen herself in the mirror, it had taken her a while to recognize herself. Wren had sometimes thought that she was pretty, but now she thought herself beautiful. More than that, she looked confident, strong. Wren had actually looked as if she stood a chance of winning.

"I am going to win." she answered the interviewer's question. "I am going to win because I refuse to let anything else be my fate."

She walked smoothly back stage after she was done, moving with the newfound grace and fluidity that she had picked up along with her sword skills.

She looked on with interest as the other tributes spoke. Phobos's angle portrayed him as being highly intelligent, but also cold and distant. Wren thought that he was unnaturally good at it, better than the kindly boy in the districts could ever have acted.

The district seven girl was ruthless, even more so than some of the Career tributes. The boy from eight refused to answer any of the interviewer's questions, but just went on and on about the quality of cloth that his district made. Wren got the idea that his mind was addled by the turn of events in his life.

The young girl from twelve captured the audience with her sweet, vulnerable child angle. Wren doubted that she would get very many sponsors or survive long, and her heart felt all the worse for the young child.

When the interviews were finally over, she remained in her seat, thinking. Phobos had been caught up in a crowd of tributes, and she was all alone in the darkened stage.

Finally, she got up and walked to the elevators. _By this time tomorrow, I might have died_, she thought grimly.

And that was when the hand clamped around her arm.

* * *

Galen POV:

The girl was strong, Galen realized, more than he had anticipated. But his sheer determination won out, and soon he had dragged Wren into an abandoned closet.

"Listen, girl. You're going to die tomorrow, unless you allow me to help you."

Wren stopped struggling, astonished. "Who are you?" she asked nervously.

"Doesn't matter. A Capitol resident. Just – I need to make sure you survive the Games, Wren. Please."

She laughed in desperation. "I can't exactly make that promise, you know."

"But I can."

"Who are you?" This time, Wren's voice did not shake. It was furious.

"I told you, it doesn't ma-"

She stomped on his foot, twisted, and pulled out of his grasp. In the same moment her hand found a light switch and she flicked it, illuminating the chamber. Wren gasped as she recognized Galen, the head Gamemaker.

"You!"

"Yes, me."

"But you're-"

"Yes, I am the head Gamemaker. It's a very prestigious post, and I am the youngest to ever hold it," the nineteen-year-old said.

"You're a monster!" Wren shouted. "A monster! You're the one in charge of this whole thing, of killing children! You're a murderer!"

"Ah, I had thought you would react to this. Your opinion complicates matters."

"_What_ 'matters'!" Wren was exasperated and furious. What was this monster, this murderer, talking to her about?

"I love you, Wren."

"No. no, no. You can't! It's wrong! You orchestrate the whole affair, I'm just one expendable source of entertainment."

"But that is where you're wrong, Wren. I do care for you. And that is why I am going to make sure you live."

All of Wren's being was focused on one word, one syllable. No. And then something else registered in her mind. "And even if you did care for me, I'd never return the affection! I love Phobos, and no Capitol mutt could change that!"

Galen blinked at her. "If that's how you feel-"

"Yes! It is! And another thing…I won't let you 'help' me win. I won't have twenty-three deaths on my conscience, and I will not ally myself with Mutt-brained murderers from the Capitol! I'd kill myself first!"

"Fine then!" he yelled at her. "Go on, die! I won't save you! Save yourself!"

"I will! I don't need to hide behind a Gamemaker; what's more, I refuse to!"

She ran away from him and to the elevators and to the safety of her room.

Galen watched her leave, and with every one of her echoing steps his heart bled. He crumpled against the wall, desperate. His love hated him, but he would not let her die. But first, he had to get that bothersome Phobos out of the way…

And then, somehow, when she won, he would make Wren understand. But it was true he could not kill off the other tributes. It would never be allowed. And she would hate him, he realized. If he made it so that Wren had all twenty-three deaths on her conscience, she would never forgive him.


	6. The Games Begin

Wren POV:

Wren had only just gotten to sleep when her prep team awakened her. After they fussed about her tangled hair and the bags under her bleary eyes for an hour, they mercifully finished their task.

In the elevator, Wren nibbled at the piece of toast served on a glass plate and nervously played with her red hair. Even after the hovercraft landed, she remained firmly rooted to her seat.

To Wren, the world had been reduced to nothing more than the frantic beating of her heart. It was the soothing voice of her stylist that brought her back to the world enough to walk off.

Squinting around the dark tunnels in distaste, Wren barely noticed when they walked into her launching room.

Shrugging off her green robe, Wren gazed at the clothes that this year's tributes would be forced to wear. To Wren, it looked like someone had specially chosen the colors for her.

She was wearing a pair of pale tan trousers and tight, dusty-blue tunic. A black leather belt draped loosely across her hips, and her feet were clad in lightweight black leather ankle-boots.

With a deep, fortifying breath, Wren stepped into the platform. A glass tube lowered over her head, and she struggled to keep herself from succumbing to the panic of claustrophobia.

And then she was rising, rising.

* * *

Galen POV

He sat in the control room of the Games headquarters, knuckles white from gripping the table.

As she came into view, Galen gasped involuntarily. She looked beautiful in the dusty blue tunic that contrasted so elegantly with her flame colored hair. Wren looked terribly frightened and small, until she saw the sword.

In that moment, her back straightened and a calculating look filled her eyes. Her long legs tensed to spring, and she patiently waited for the clock to wind down.

To Galen, that minute was sixty seconds of torture, knowing that they might be the last moments of his love's life.

When the gong rang, he thought his heart was going to burst in anxiety and fear.


	7. Day One

Wren POV

Wren leaped from her platform the second the gong rang out; before her mind even registered the sound had occurred.

She had the sword in her hand before the others had even reached the cornucopia. As quickly as she could, Wren hoisted a glaring green backpack onto one arm and a handful of throwing knives in another.

A large, hulking figure approached her, and Wren plunged the blade towards his chest. The district four tribute, however, twisted out of the way easily and grabbed her by the hair. Wren cried out, but the sound was lost in the roar of battle.

He reached for a wickedly sharpened blade on the ground and smiled cruelly at her. A low, pitiful whimper of fear escaped from her lips, and his mouth spread even wider.

In an impulsive action, Wren lashed out, legs thrashing about. One booted foot caught him solidly in a strategic location, and the tribute doubled over. Wren twisted out of his grasp, and then she ran.

Wren sensed a figure approaching behind her. With a snarl, she whirled around, swinging her sword.

Her eyes widened in horror as she realized that she had been swinging at Phobos. Luckily, he had been farther away from her than she had calculated, so he was unscathed. Or, no, not unscathed. He was holding his wrist as if it pained him.

His mouth opened, and he gaped like a fish, but Wren shook her head. Grabbing his uninjured arm, she pulled him into the relative cover of the bushes nearby. They crawled until the sounds of the battle had faded behind them. Once she was sure that nobody could see them, Wren gestured to Phobos that they should run.

When they finally came to a stop, the afternoon was well underway. Nine cannons sounded, counting the number of deaths.

"Next time, don't…run….so fast." Phobos panted.

Wren did not respond. She had collapsed into a pile on the floor and was desperately struggling to calm her breathing and slow her raging heartbeat.

"Don't worry, I've learned my lesson," she finally managed to croak out. Once that was done, she sat up and inspected her sword for the first time. A broadsword by the look of it, about four and a half feet long, three inches wide at the base, and tapering down to a point at the tip. The metal was the dark color of tarnished silver, and the blade shimmered cruelly in the afternoon light. The hilt was of the same metal, was wrapped in smooth straps of black leather, and the intricate pommel was set with a deep, blood-red stone the color of Wren's hair.

Sliding the blade back into its sheath, she tucked it into her belt and stood. Wren gazed about her, hands on her hips. Somewhere along the wild escape, her hair had come loose, and now the red strands tumbled about every which way.

Her scalp prickled painfully as she shook her head, a reminder of how the district four tribute had captured her by holding onto her hair.

She shrugged mentally, unable to do anything to better the situation as it was.

"What happened to your wrist?" Wren questioned.

"Oh, That? I tripped into a tree. It's probably sprained."

Wren sighed, then quickly changed the subject. "What did you pick up back there?"

"This bag, which is filled with…stuff. I haven't actually checked."

"Well, now's a good a time as any, I suppose. But we should find a more secluded place to do it."

Phobos nodded curtly and strode into the impenetrable cover of two intertwined weeping willows. Wren followed close behind.

Inside, the pair emptied out their bags and supplies. Wren had a packet of dried beef, two small bottles of water, and a length of ultra-thin rope. Phobos unearthed a thick woolen blanket, another two bags of died beef and water, and a small bottle of water-purifier. He also had several weapons: a knife as long as Wren's forearm, a longsword and shield, and a much smaller knife.

With a sigh, Wren stood up. "I'm going to go scout around," she announced. "To cover our trail, look for nearby enemies, and search out possible sources of food." You should rest, now. That wrist could cause problems later on."

Phobos opened his mouth as if to argue, but changed his mind upon glimpsing her determined face.

With a smile in his direction, Wren turned and strode into the forest.

* * *

Galen POV

Galen hissed in frustration, forcing his fingers away from the control panel that would sync a pack of bloodthirsty mutts on that Phobos. As much as he wanted to kill the main competitor for Wren's heart, he knew he had to restrain from the task. The Capitol residents were happy. No need to overwhelm them.

He turned away from Phobos and turned to face Wren.

She was walking quietly in the forest with the innate grace of a dancer. She looked for any tell-tale tracks leading to her hideout, but the strong wind had already taken care of that. Galen had made sure that the wind would target every last footprint that they had made.

Satisfied, Wren walked around the tree, searching for water or food. About two hundred yards away from the tree, she found a small stream, barely a trickle. And next to that, she found a bramble of thorny branches.

Wren's hand unconsciously twitched to her sore scalp, thinking. She gathered several branches before hurrying back to shelter out of the wind.

Once inside the cover of willows, she created a clumsy rope out of the twine in her pack and the large thorns. Once she had a length a little longer than her own hair, Wren tied the strap into her hair. Slowly, mindful of the thorns, she re-braided her hair.

Galen suppressed the urge to laugh out loud_. Smart girl_, he praised. Anyone who tried to pull the trick the district four tribute boy had would get a painful surprise.

Galen chuckled quietly to himself before glancing at the rest of the screens dedicated to Wren. In the past five minutes, the amount of people betting for her had doubled, and she had added quite a few more sponsors.

All in all, it was going great for the district six tribute.

Once Wren had taken care of her own needs, she turned to Phobos, who was clutching his wrist in pain. Wren frowned in concern upon realizing that the arm was even more swollen than before.

"What did you do?" she asked, rather roughly.

"Oh, well, I didn't want to feel useless, so I, well, I, climbed the tree to see if I could get a better lookout."

"You fool! You did that with a sprained wrist? You could have fallen and broken your neck, and then where would we be?"

"I'm sorry." he murmured sheepishly. His eyes were downcast, and a deep flush of shame colored his cheeks.

Wren bit her lip. She had not wished to injure his pride quite so much. Sighing an apology, she sat down next to Phobos. "It's just that, here, nobody will wait for you to heal. They'll attack when you're weakest, and I can't let that happen."

He looked up at her from beneath a mop of unruly brown hair, his coffee-colored eyes glimmering with unasked questions.

Wren's heat faltered, then picked up, fluttering like a caged bird in her chest. "We should try to fix that arm of yours," she murmured, not looking at him.

"Wren-" he began, but she had already gotten up from the ground and pulled the large knife from his pack. Without looking back at him, Wren cut a few sturdy branches from the willow.

She split the wood into two flat slats, each about six inches long. Wren briefly cast about for something to bind up the wrist. "Give me that belt," she intoned.

He looked up, surprised, but did not argue as he handed the leather to her. Wren wrapped the material tightly over the wooden slats and wrist. Once done, she used the remainder of the string to hold the whole thing together.

Wren sighed, looking at the sad lump binding his wrist.

Galen laughed, looking at it. She had rendered him basically useless for now. Even if he did nothing at all, the likelihood was that Phobos would get himself killed within the next few weeks.

Galen clenched his jaw as he watched the two huddled together between the enormous roots of the tree, trying to keep warm in the cool air.

Scowling, he turned away from the screens dedicated to district six and pressed the button that caused the anthem to play and the dead faces be broadcast.

During the initial bloodbath, nine tributes had died. The girl from three, both of the five tributes, the girl from seven, the boy from eight, both from nine, and the pairs from ten and eleven had all been eliminated from the games that day.


	8. Day Two

Wren POV: day two

The blast of a cannon shattered the peace of sleep and startled Wren into wakefulness. She sat up, unsheathed blade in her left hand.

She glanced about wildly, but the forest was silent. Then, in the distance, she heard a high pitched cry. Wren thought of Arena malfunctions, mutts, and howling winds before the truth dawned in her mind. It was a tribute.

"Climb, climb!" She ordered Phobos, pulling all of their supplied back into the backpack. "Climb!"

She was already pushing him into the slender branches of the tree and climbing up behind him. Once she was sure that Phobos was safely within the tree, she climbed higher, to where the branches swayed under her weight.

She looked to where she had heard the sound, shielding her eyes against the blinding sunlight. A figure moved only a few hundred yards away, swinging arms her wildly while desperately struggling to remain on foot.

Wren forced herself to harden her heart before leaping down to intercept the tribute. Her sword was out, ready to cut down another obstacle between herself and home.

Before she could land a deathblow, however, the shock of midnight-dark hair, olive skin, and blue-gray eyes registered in her consciousness. It was none other than the doe-eyed district twelve girl, who had wrenched Wren's heart with pity upon encountering her.

Wren gasped, lurching her weight so that she fell away from the child and into the bushes on the side.

"Hello there," she said with a lopsided grin, brushing leaves from her hair. "Fancy meeting you here."

The smaller tribute was crouched on her tiny feet and knees, ready to spring at a moment's notice. "H…hello?" she responded in the faintest whisper.

"I apologize for scaring you," Wren began, "But I thought that you might try to attack us." As an afterthought, she stuck out her large, slender hand. "I'm Wren, in case you didn't catch it at the interviews or reapings."

The tiny wisp of the girl could only stare, fear and suspicion clouding her tiny features. Finally, she seemed to decide to trust Wren, if only slightly. Her muscles relaxed, and her brow smoothed. "Vera," she said briefly.

Just then, Vera's stomach grumbled loudly, and Wren's lips twitched upward slightly in responce.

"You must be hungry. Here, I'll get you food." Turning away from Vera, she called out to the tree. "Phobos, it's fine, there's no real danger anymore. Come down, and bring some of that food with you."

The loud rustling of the trees sounded a few seconds later, and Phobos emerged from the tangle of leaves, ripping twigs from his unruly hair. In his hand was a packet of dried beef.

Vera stared at it, eyes glimmering with hunger. Wren opened it and removed the two smallest pieces, giving them to Phobos and herself. The rest, she handed to Vera, who instantly ripped into the meal like a wild animal.

"I wouldn't be so hungry, normally, but I ate so much at the Capitol, that now I need more than before," she explained between bites.

Wren studied the child while she ate. Her hair was the color of mockingjay feathers, though it lay in a tangled mess around her shoulders. Briefly, Wren wondered what had happened to make her so disheveled in little more than a day. Her olive skin was not as tight over her cheeks as it had been a few weeks ago, though now it was covered with the crimson flush of sunburn. Vera's eyes glinted with joy as she ate the food, and Wren found herself unable to describe their color. They were a pale-blue gray, one that she had never seen before. It was too light to resemble storm clouds, not the correct hue for ice.

Vera glanced up to find Wren studying her, and instantly she crouched, muscles tensed to spring and run away once again. "'You planning to kill me now?" she questioned. Her pale eyes flashed angrily, but Wren could see the underlying fear beneath.

"Now, why would we do that?"

"'Cause you want to win and go home. Well guess what, I want to go home too."

Phobos pulled at his dark hair in frustration, but Wren had experience working with little ones. She had, for the past seven years, been the main caretaker of her younger siblings. "No, we won't kill you now or anytime soon. If we were, would we have wasted food on you?" She paused, waiting for Vera to respond.

She opened her mouth, but closed it weakly when no sound emerged.

"And there is another reason I wouldn't kill you," Wren confided. Did she dare say it? More likely than no, she would lose vast amounts of sponsors and make herself into a weakling, but the small girl should have some assurance that she had not just been captured by her murderers. "I have two younger siblings, a pair of twins. Their names are Lissa and Elsren, and you remind me of them. For the past seven years, I've taken care of them every single day. And you see, Vera, I could never hurt them. Seeing you, it's like a reflection of them. So I promise not to execute you."

Wren sighed. She rarely spoke about her family's plight. It was too painful.

Vera studied Wren's face carefully, searching for any hint that the larger girl might be lying. Finding none, she nodded slowly.

"I'll trust you. I don't know if I should, and I will run away if I want at any time, with my share of the supplies."

Wren nodded. "Good enough. We'll feed you and keep you safe to the best of our ability, but you'll have to help us out with our 'errands'."

Once again, the frail figure gave her consent. "That's only fair," she agreed.

Phobos spoke up, finally. "Well, that's settled, but we really should get going here. After all, we're almost out of food, and who knows if the others are trailing us?"

Without another thought, the threesome piled on their re-packed supplies and wandered away from the shelter of the trees.

"Does anyone here know how to fish?" Wren questioned. "I saw a decent-sized stream yesterday, and I'm fairly certain there were fish."

Her two allies shook their heads silently.

"Oh, never mind then. I'm sure we could improvise _something_ once we get there."

And so the second day of the Hunger Games passed.


	9. Day Three

Galen POV: Day three

There had been only one death yesterday very early on, and none yet today. Galen had hoped that the initial bloodbath would have been enough to keep the viewers placated for a few more days, but no such luck was to be had.

Already, two other Gamemakers had complained to Galen that the watchers were becoming agitated. Apparently, the death of the district twelve boy earlier had not been bloody enough for their tastes. Well, it had been pretty lackluster, Galen had to admit. A single Career tribute, who had been scouting about the area, had stumbled into the camp. The two had been huddled on the ground in plain sight.

The wild wind of the previous evening had left them with an unkempt and disheveled appearance that usually took weeks for the tributes to attain.

The boy tribute had been far from imposing. A slight figure, he stood only slightly taller than his district counterpart. He had mismatched eyes, one tinted gray like those found within the Seam, and the other a pale sky blue. His hair was a tangle of longish dark blonde curls; then matted with leaves, twigs, and dirt.

By the time he and his partner had jumped to their feet, the Career Tribute was standing only a few feet from them. The district four boy studied them with catlike interest, green eyes open to barely slits.

The others had stared at him with trepidation. Moving forward bravely, the twelve boy stood in front of Vera, shielding her from the Career. Slowly, she had begun to back away, gaze never leaving the two larger bodies in front of her. She managed to crawl behind an enormous tree and, unable to leave behind her district partner, scrambled up the trunk as quietly as possible.

Though she must have been extremely hungry and tired, the tiny body was fueled by a rush of adrenaline. She had desperately climbed up to the first branches of the tree, a good twelve feet off the air.

The district four boy had lost sight of Vera while making sure never to lose sight of his main opponent.

Suddenly, the district twelve boy had bolted, but the other tribute had been quicker. He stepped up behind the tribute, grasped him by the arm, and flipped him so that his back was pressed against the bark of the tree. There, the twelve boy was frozen in terror.

His mismatched eyes pleaded with the Career to reconsider, but his opponent was caught up in the bloodlust that came with killing.

Mercilessly, he had plunged the knife into the base of the twelve boy's neck, slicing it across the pale skin.

The larger tribute had turned away, snarling, searching for his next prey, while the other boy desperately struggled to hold his neck together.

Finally, he had crumpled to the floor, hands at last releasing their blood-slickened hold. The cannon sounded then, echoing the last beat of his dying heart.

High above in the trees, Vera had let out a scream as her grip on the branches gave way and she plummeted below. Somehow, she had managed to grip a branch and slow her descent, though the Career tribute saw her almost instantly.

With another horrified yell, Vera had run away from the district four tribute as a rabbit runs from a fox. She had run, faster than one could have imagined the little figure could go to escape with her life.

After a few hundred feet, the pursuer had given up and returned to the Career camp. The child however, had kept running until she was intercepted by Wren several minutes later.

That had been yesterday at dawn. Now, halfway through day three, the people were once again hungering to see more spilt blood.

Galen sighed once again. What could he do to keep the viewers happy? And more importantly, what could he do to save his job?

He glanced over at the control panel once again. With a single command, he could flood the entire arena or set it all on fire. He could have entire portions of it crumple in an earthquake or release a pack of ravenous mutts on the hapless tributes. He could cause an explosion or avalanche, unyieldingly powerful storms, and yet he could not decide how to keep the watchers entertained without killing Wren in the process. And that was the only thing that mattered, now.

Though perhaps, he thought, he could drive some other tributes closer to the Careers, who were exceptionally violent this year.

Galen looked around at the map of the Arena and the glowing dots representing each tribute. The district eight girl was walking slowly in the direction of the Career tributes. Zooming in on here image, Galen rapidly came to the conclusion that she was lost and confused. By the way she was clutching her stomach, Galen was willing to bet that she had not eaten anything since the Games Had begun.

It was time to put the pitiful creature out of her misery, he decided. Pressing a few buttons and typing a few commands, Galen summoned a wind to blow on the girl's back.

* * *

She stumbled when it hit. So starved was she that she could not fight the wind. Frowning, Galen lessened the force of the gale slightly, still guiding the girl closer to the pack of Careers. Eventually, she collapsed in the bushes just beyond their reach. Galen sat back in his chair to watch the show.

"What was that sound?" asked the district one girl.

"Twinkle, you are getting so paranoid after only three days." That was the district two girl, Aura.

"No, I heard it too," replied the other district one tribute.

"See, Tinsel doesn't think I'm paranoid!" exclaimed his district partner, flipping back her long blonde hair disdainfully.

"Shut up!" exclaimed the district two boy, Garth. "Tinsel, Aro, come with me." The district one and four boys instantly stood up. "Twinkle, were exactly did you hear the noise?"

Soundlessly, the blonde girl stalked to where she had heard the noise, the others close behind her.

By then, the other girl seemed to have realized that she was in a lot of trouble, but she was too weak to escape.

The girl cried out feebly as the Careers found her. Snarling, they surrounded her, malicious grins on their faces.

"Well, well, will you look what we have here?"

"She doesn't look like much, does she?"

"Now, what should we do with it?"

"Just make it quick!" cried the small figure.

"You have no say in that!"

They picked her up and dragged her into the center of the camp. She continued to struggle, though very weakly.

"Shut up!" yelled Twinkle finally, punching her in the jaw.

She whimpered and was still. Huddling on the ground, she watched the others through wide, tearful eyes.

"Now, what's your name?"

"M…Mya." she whispered.

"Well, Mya, tell us about any special abilities you may have. Right now, it's join or die."

"I…I…I'm fairly good at knife fighting, and scouting. I can cook, so I could prepare any food that you hunt. And…I did well with the edible plants thing at training."

"I see. And what was your score in training?"

"A five, I think."

"Really? I got twice that amount. I don't think the alliance has any place for the likes of one such as you."

Mya's eyes widened as the meaning behind the words registered in her mind. Shuddering violently, she forced speech into her numb lips. "Just…do it fast, please."

"Oh, but we have all the time in the world," she drawled, flicking a knife between her fingers. "And the audience must be getting bored, don't you think? This will keep them occupied longer." A sly grin crossed her features.

"Twinkle-" began her district partner, but she hushed him. Sighing, he looked around the others, searching for a flicker of empathy.

The district four boy, Aro, grinned and stepped closer to Mya. "I'll hold her down," he offered.

Twinkle glanced up at him with a smile to melt snow. "How sweet."

Turning her gaze upon the captive, she considered where to make the first cut. "You don't speak much, do you?" she asked idly. "I don't suppose you have much use for your lips, then." Slowly, she made deep cuts around the skin of Mya's lips, drawing forth large quantities of flowing blood.

She cried out in pain, though the sound was muffled.

"Hm," Twinkle continued. "What else? Oh, we can't forget your training score. Pity, if not for that, you might be whole right now," the career tribute mused as she carved a large, crude 5 onto the other girl's forehead. Flourishing her very red knife, Twinkle went on to continue cutting the arms and legs of the other tribute.

"Just stop! Kill me now!" she pleaded, but Twinkle was caught up in the ecstasy of the pain she was causing and the power she felt.

"Now, now, stop that. In fact, I think I'll prolong this even more, now that you ask." She cut yet another gash on the girl's neck.

"Twinkle, stop it." She glanced up, annoyed, but Tinsel was not yet done speaking. "You've given them enough of a show. Just end it now. She's almost dead anyway."

With a sigh, Twinkle bent over the crimson form of Mya. "If I had my way, you'd still be writhing around in pain." In a flippant and careless jester, Twinkle slit the other girl's neck.

Mya's eyes widened and she spluttered for a few seconds until at last her bled-out heart faltered and finally stopped.

The loud cannon boom sounded, alerting all of those in the Arena that yet another tribute had been eliminated.

* * *

Galen found himself staring blankly at the screen as a turmoil of a million emotions played in his mind. He had not expected the Careers to torture the girl quite so much. He had hoped, somewhere in his subconscious, that she would not suffer excessively when she was removed from the Arena. And it was his fault. He had caused the girl, already half-dead and witless from hunger, to stumble into her killers. He shook his head, dismayed. Finally, he could understand why Wren thought him such a monster.

_Stop that_, he ordered himself. After all, he had just granted Wren a few more hours of life. And that was all that mattered. If she hated him for it, so be it; Galen was not going to let her die.


	10. Day Four

Wren POV: day four

Wren stifled yet another yawn and watched the horizon blush with the first hint of dawn. Usually, she took the first shift for guarding, but both Phobos and Vera had been so tired that she had volunteered for both.

She wondered, briefly, if she would be the next to die, but refused to dwell on it. If she died, so be it-as long as she could make certain that Vera or Phobos survived. They were all that mattered to her now, the boy she had always loved and the tiny girl for whom she felt a desperate desire to protect.

For the first time since the Games began, Wren thought of Galen. The Head Gamemaker falling in love with a tribute-the idea was ludicrous.

Another thought came to Wren then. If he truly had fallen for her, had he been clearing the way for her? No, he couldn't. She refused to allow it. What would it mean for her and Phobos? she wondered, but cruel reality punctured the thought. Nothing. Even if that Capitol citizen did not like her, it meant nothing for herself and Phobos. One or both of them was going to die within the next few days.

Wren refused to give in to the bitter tears that were threatening to choke her. No, she refused to dwell on such things. She was going to win, and she would go home. And if she didn't, then Phobos would.

With that decided, she was finally able to gather the energy to get up. She slit the last fish that they had gathered two days ago into three more-or-less equal portions before awakening Phobos and Vera.

The threesome ate their meager breakfast in bleary-eyed silence. No one seemed to notice Wren's unusually deep silence or the roiling of emotions she felt underneath her skin.

Finally, she could no longer stand the pressure she felt.

"Let's get going," she cried out impatiently.

"Wren, maybe you should rest," murmured Phobos worriedly, glancing at her fever-bright, red rimmed eyes.

"No," she rasped. "After all, I can rest when I'm dead."

The pair stared at her, shocked.

"Oh, don't worry," Wren called as she flipped her braid behind her back. "I'm not planning to die yet. I'm just saying that I don't see the point in wasting time."

Still, they stared at her. Wren shook her head. "Oh, shush. It was simply a thought. I have no desire to die as of right now."

"Good," Phobos said forcefully, staring at Wren with a bright intensity in his gaze.

Wren flushed crimson and turned away under his piercing gaze. "Shall we continue, then? We're out of food, I'm afraid, and very nearly out of water."

Vera giggled. "Oh, let's go fishing again! Maybe this time, both of you won't fall in the river!"

"Perhaps," replied Wren in an overly disdainful voice that caused all of them to break down with laughter.

She sobered almost instantly, of course. Who could possibly be merry during the Hunger Games, after all?

The silent group moved among the trees, the rustling of branches the only clue to their position.

At long last, they reached the river. Having traveled several miles since their previous fishing expedition, they found a wide, roaring current where before there had been a somewhat shallow, peaceful trickle of water.

"Perhaps we should move on?" suggested Phobos.

Wren nodded. "Yes, we should. Especially if we decide to be so clumsy as we were the last time." She winced the moment the words left her mouth. Since when was she so sarcastic and cruel?

An uncomfortable silence descended on the group as they continued trekking through the mud and brambles. Wren took to the back, where she engaged her mind with admittedly dark thoughts.

_Perhaps it would be better for them if I lost_, she thought. _After all,_ _I've managed to deeply alarm them and hurt Phobos's pride quite badly yet again. And-do I want to win, if I lose them? Vera, I've only known her for a few days, but I can't stand the thought of her dying. And Phobos-what would I do without him? I don't even care that he never even knew my name before this, the thought of going back alone is…horrible._

A sudden rustle of noise behind her caught her attention. "Shh…I think I heard someth-," she began as the large form of the district seven boy burst out from the brambles. He wielded an uncomfortably large, sharp axe with an expert hand. For a moment, the tribute stared at the threesome, who stared right back.

"This is where we run," Phobos suggested.

Before he could turn to flee, however, he found an axe impaled in his right arm. Wren let out a weak whimper. She wanted to faint and never wake up. Through her panicked haze, she saw the district seven tribute boy approaching Phobos, presumeably to pull out the axe and finish the job.

"No!" cried Vera, but the other tribute punched her, sending the tiny wisp of a girl flying to the ground.

Vera moaned as her head collided with the base of a tree and lay still.

The weak sound finally penetrated Wren's paralyzed state, and she rushed forward, sword aimed at the exposed back of the other tribute, savage yell erupting from her throat.

He whirled around in time to see the dark blade enter his chest directly above his heart.

Wren let out a small, startled, "Oh," as she watched the red blooming from her opponent's chest.

His eyes widened in shock and horror as the bright flow of blood gushed about his wound. Wren did not remove the blade, for she knew that doing so would be even more painful than leaving it within his chest. Her amber eyes sought his, begging for forgiveness. His eyes, which were the bright color of new leaves in spring, glared back. Finally, the sharp glare in them softened, and he blinked once. He opened them again, and Wren watched them darken.

The cannon boomed across the Arena. To Wren, it was the emptiest sound she had ever heard, and it echoed in her body as if it were a physical thing.

Wren gently lay the limp body on the ground, oblivious to the bright red staining her clothes and skin.

She had eyes only for her two allies now. "Phobos! Vera!" she cried, desperation in her voice. "Phobos!"

"I'm fine," he managed to gasp out. "Vera…"

Wren turned to the smaller girl, but she was already struggling to her feet. Wren aided her.

"Sit down, take deep breaths, and try not to move, she instructed. I'll be back."

Wren rushed away, her mind a swirl of worry. _First things first_, she instructed herself. _Phobos is bleeding, so I need to stop that somehow…for that, I'll need either moss or spider webs. What else…a bandage…I'll have to use the leather belts, or maybe cut up one of the bags…And what is useful to fight infections? Why did I not pay more attention in training? _

She managed to locate both the moss and the spiderwebs before racing back to where she had left her allies.

Vera looked fine; she was regaining color in her cheeks. Phobos was another matter, however. He had shut his eyes tightly, and his teeth were clenched in pain. Wren frowned upon seeing him. He was paler than she had thought was humanly possible. How much blood had he lost?

Without sparing another second, Wren pressed the wad of spider webs and mossaround the wound.

"Now I'm going to pull the axe out, okay? This is going to hurt…a lot."

Phobos nodded and waited. Letting out the breath she had been holding, Wren slowly counted to three before ripping the axe away from his arm. She could only gasp at what she saw. The sharp metal edge had cut straight through the skin and muscle and nicked the bone rather deeply. Quickly, she stuffed in even more moss, hoping to stanch the flow of blood.

"Vera, can you help me?" she gasped. "Get the bag-the smaller one-and cut it into strips. Not too small!"

While Vera massacred the satchel, Wren desperately held the two edges of flesh together. "Just breathe, Phobos. Inhale, exhale. In, out. Breathe. Calm down-I'm going to do everything I can, but the faster your heart beats, the more blood you lose! Try clenching your muscles to slow down the bleeding…yes, that's it."

She continued to murmur encouraging nonsense as well as basic advice as she tied the makeshift bandages as tightly as she could without fear of cutting off circulation to his arm.

"Can you stand?" she questioned. "We need to move. Now." She bit her lip. "But, with all that blood you've lost, you'll need to eat something…"

"Hickory bark," Vera murmured. It paralyzes fish, brings them to the surface. We'll catch them easily like that."

Wren studied the smaller girl for a second. "Vera, you are a genius," she said. "Now, do you think you could identify some of that? I cannot actually recall what it looks like," she said apologetically.

Vera nodded a few minutes later, she darted into the underbrush to rip away a few strips of bark.

"I'll help you catch the fish," she said. "Just as soon as we can place Phobos somewhere safe."

Wren nodded and bit her lip as she glanced at Phobos. He was so pale, Wren realized with a fresh spurt of worry.

She offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, though even Wren knew it looked more like a grimace.

After another half hour of walking, Wren decided to rest. Phobos was paler than ever and trembling like a leaf in the wind. Wren realized that she was supporting almost all of his weight by that point.

"Vera, would you mind lifting that branch over there so we can get in? Thank you." Slowly, Wren helped Phobos down until he rested on the slightly damp ground. She stood up and addressed the other two with a businesslike tone that was not to be disobeyed. "Phobos, you will stay here and wait for Vera and I, who will go down to the river for food. Do not, under any circumstances, die before I get back. 'Cause if you do, I swear I will follow you to the afterlife, whatever it is, and kill you. Is that clear?"

Phobos nodded, the faintest of smiles curling around his lips.

"Good," Wen managed to reply curtly, struggling around the sudden lump growing in her throat. "Come along, Vera."

The two of them threw strips of hickory bark into a still stretch of the river until a single slow-moving fish bobbed to the surface.

"Well, it'll have to do," Wren said. "Vera, I'm going to go start a fire and cook this a few feet away, so that it will be harder for someone to find you if they see the smoke. If you hear a cannon, run for Phobos, and do not stop. I'll meet you there if I can."

She nodded. "Be careful, Wren."

"Of course I will. Don't worry about me."

Wren turned away from her young ally and walked until she was just out of sight. There, she started a tiny fire, hoping desperately that the silver smoke would not be seen over the thick canopy of foliage.

As soon as it was blazing, she cleared away the extra fuel that was within a five foot radius of the fire pit she had created.

Wren cooked the fish she had captured by holding it speared over a branch. Minutes later, Vera joined her with a second catch.

Even though they had only two minuscule fish to feed themselves, the pair decided to return to Phobos.

"We should not leave him alone in his condition," Wren fretted as they strode back to where he lay in wait.

"He'll be fine," Vera assured her.

"I suppose, but-how long can he last in that condition? The axe cut clear through to the bone. If it doesn't get infected, it'll be a miracle."

"Well, truth be told, I don't think he will last much longer," Vera sighed.

Wren nodded, heart heavier than lead. "I think you might be right, but…NO! I won't let it be true! You'll see, Vera; I'll do everything in my power to make sure he lives!"

Vera wisely said nothing. Wren's heart cried out in sorrow.


	11. Day Five

Galen POV: Day five

Galen was deeply worried about Wren. She was preoccupied with the safety of that, that…thing that was her district counterpart. How Galen loathed him…though, on the bright side, he estimated that he would not last more than a couple more days in the Arena, that with his nasty cut and all.

Still, Wren had given up all of her food ration in favor of her other allies the previous night, and had once again offered to keep watch the entire night. Luckily, Vera had intervened on her behalf, and Wren had slept for half the night.

Galen smiled to himself as he watched the video feed of Wren. Asleep, she did not look angry or worried or frightened, as she did during her waking hours in the Arena.

* * *

Wren stirred, and instantly her peaceful expression was transformed into one of worry. "Phobos?" she inquired. "Are you alright?"

He only murmured a reply.

"Come on, wake up," she called. When there was no reply, her frown deepened. Slowly, she placed her hand over his forehead. "Oh," she gasped. "Vera, help! He has a fever, I swear he does!"

Wren quickly searched for any loose piece of fabric. Her eyes settled on the incredibly thick straps of the second bag. Without pausing to consider her actions, Wren cut off the strip and dipped it into water. She covered Phobos's forehead with it and wrapped him up in the blanket as best she could and sat back on her heals.

"Oh, Vera, what can we do?" she cried. "I know there are plants to help with infection, but what were they? If I get one wrong, he'll die!"

Vera sighed. "I don't know any plants. We'd better hope that your mentors send something soon, because if not, he won't make it another day."

* * *

_Yes!_ Galen's mind exulted. His enthusiasm was doused almost instantly, however, when he caught sight or Wren's heartbroken face. To her, Phobos's death was a horrendous possibility, not the clearing of a path.

* * *

Wren glared skyward, searching for a speck of silver that would indicate the approach of a parachute. "Please!" she begged the sky.

"Wren, calm down," Vera whispered.

Wren collapsed on Vera, all the strength gone from her body. "Please, if we have any sponsors, now would be a good time to receive a gift…" Wren implored once again.

* * *

Nothing fell from the sky however, and Wren looked even more dejected. For a moment, Galen's heart wrenched in pain. Afterward, he recalled the reason for her sorrow, and he forced himself to turn away. Once Phobos was out of the way, Wren would be his. All he had to do now was wait.

Frowning slightly, he glanced at the screens that told the sponsor status of the district six tributes. Running a quick calculation in his mind, Galen realized that the mentors had enough money to spend on only a tiny vial of medicine, which might not even be enough to cure Phobos. And if they spent that much, then there would be nothing left over to spend on the tribute's needs later on.

As he watched, the noted funds for district six dropped almost to zero, and almost instantly a parachute fell beside Wren.

* * *

Silently, almost reverently, she picked up the packet with trembling fingers and inspected the contents. Inside was a tiny green glass bottle that appeared to have no more than a single mouthful of sloshing golden liquid inside.

"Phobos, open your mouth," she urged, placing the tiny vial on his parched lips. She allowed a single drop to trickle in.

Thus she fed him the entire contents of the bottle in that fashion, drop by drop. Her work done, Wren sat back on her heals and stared at Phobos, holding her breath.

After several minutes, his eyelids fluttered. "Wren?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Yes," she responded, hugging him gently.

"What happened?"

"Your arm-it got infected. You had a fever, and oh, I thought you were going to die! Don't do that!"

Phobos smiled weakly. "Don't worry; I have no plans to die anytime soon."

Wren laughed, a musical sound that seemed at odds with the whole situation.

* * *

In his remote control room, Galen gnashed his teeth angrily. How dare that lowly tribute elicit a smile from Wren? How could he dare to be near her, when he was distant and isolated in a control room far away?

_Soon, soon_, Galen forced the thought into his troubled mind. Soon. Soon, Phobos would die one way or the other. And then Wren would be his and his alone.

Galen did not pause to consider the impossibility of an existence with Wren, as she had so scornfully a few hours past. All he could see in his mind were her brilliant golden eyes and fiery red hair that burned away all other thoughts.

He turned away from the video feeds of his love. Seeing Wren happy with another person was just too painful.

Instead, he focused on what the other tributes were doing, as a good Head Gamemaker should. The district three boy was wandering about, cautiously searching all around him for danger. So busy was the fool staring at the tree canopies that he did not notice the tree root in front of him until he stumbled. The tribute did not appear to be injured, simply annoyed and dusty.

Galen chuckled and shifted his attention. The Career tribute pack seemed to be having a disagreement of some sort. Well, that looked interesting. He focused his concentration on the argument.

* * *

"…All I'm saying is that you're a little too deadly for your own good!" Tinsel berated his district counterpart, Twinkle.

"How so?" she spat angrily.

"Well, you've tortured every single person you've killed, and yelled at us when it wasn't bloody enough!"

"All I'm doing is getting us sponsors!"

"Oh, really? You do realize that the citizens all probably think that you are insane and emotionally unstable, do you not?" Aura, the district two Career, taunted her.

The two engaged in a silent glaring battle. Galen thought about how rare it was for two Careers to hate each other this badly.

"Aura, shut up."

"Why should I?"

"If you do not shut up, I swear I'll make you an Avox right this instant." she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Oh, scary," Aura taunted. "But sorry, you don't frighten me all that much. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're only a foolish district one girl-fascinated by stupid, glittery things, and only playing at being a Career."

"I'm going to kill you, district two!" So saying, Twinkle sprung at her opponent, ripping a long knife from the hidden sheath tied to her arm.

The other girl had not trained for years without picking up any skills, however. Skillfully, she dodged her opponent's attack and picked up the knife that her district partner offered her. Whirling about, Aura turned and once again faced Twinkle.

Twinkle let out a maniacal laugh as she slashed at Aura's throat. Once again, Aura leapt out of the way, chocolate brown hair cascading about her shoulders.

"What is wrong with you?" Aura yelled, pale eyes flashing in anger. "We're supposed to be on the same team!"

"Ha! Could've fooled me. No, you're only here to better your chances of winning. Well, guess what, sweetie, it's me who's going home this time around."

Aura gritted her teeth and stuck out her jaw defiantly. "I don't think so, one."

The other Careers were standing a safe distance away from the brawl, their faces morphed into grotesque masks of excitement.

"I'm betting on two," declared the district four girl.

"Really? One stands a much better chance, I think," responded Aro, her district counterpart. He gave her a lopsided half smile; which feigned warmth, but did not reach his cold sea-green eyes.

The two fighters ignored the commotion around them. They had given up on verbal insults and were preparing to fight.

"This contest will decide once and for all which of us is the better tribute," Twinkle announced.

"It is to be a fight to the death, and all members of the alliance must swear to accept the outcome." Aura continued.

"And so, we begin," Tinsel called out.

The two met head-on, knives shimmering cruelly in the early afternoon light. The two were incredible fighters, the absolute best of their district.

They slashed and hacked at the air, dodged and blocked attacks so skillfully that it seemed like a perfectly choreographed dance.

Aura cried out suddenly and pressed a hand to her left hip, which came away dripping in crimson blood.

"Give up, two?" taunted Twinkle. "If you renounce, I'll kill you quickly, and be done with it. Better a slit throat than a dozen bled-out wounds."

If anything, the pain seemed to sharpen the district two's girl's resolve to kill her opponent. "Never," she snarled.

She lunged forward, but Twinkle was already there, knife pointed at Aura's chest. Somehow, she managed to escape what would surely have been a deathblow.

Twinkle stumbled forward, and Aura took the opportunity to knock her feet from under her.

The district one girl landed flat on her stomach, but quickly turned so that she was resting on her back.

Aura knelt by her side, gripping her golden hair tightly in one hand and the wickedly sharp knife in the other. "Give up, one?" she asked innocently. "I think it's time to give you a taste of what you've been doing ever since stepping into the Arena.

"Let's see," she continued musingly. "You've killed the district five girl, the district eight girls, the nine boy, and the eleven boy. A lot of torturous deaths, don't you think?" she asked as she carved the number of each district she named on Twinkle's forehead.

Twinkle howled, from pain or humiliation, Galen could not tell. Aura frowned, and Galen realized that she was not enjoying herself at all, as Twinkle would have.

Twinkle clawed furiously at Aura's face. The other girl had to let go to avoid losing her eye, and Twinkle used that momentary weakening to escape.

She scrambled to her feet, legs trembling visibly as a curtain of blood obscured her eyes. Furiously, the district one tribute wiped the viscous liquid from her face and lunged forward once again.

Aura stopped her with another slash at Twinkle's legs. The other girl cried out as she fell. Aura quickly laid her knife over the other girl's neck and pressed down until she met with bone.

For a few seconds, Twinkle lay struggling to breathe through her severed windpipe. Aura stabbed her through the heart, and instantly the cannon boomed.

* * *

_A blessing in disguise_? Galen wondered. Had a ruthless Career actually chosen to cut short the excruciating last moments of the other girl as she struggled? Impossible. Though, maybe not…after all, he had seen the flicker of remorse as Aura gashed her opponent's forehead open.

Now, Galen stared at the aftermath of the Career battle. Aro was staring daggers at Aura, who pointedly ignored him. Instead, she stood over the body of Twinkle. Her golden hair was tangled and dusty, and her jewel-bright blue eyes were glazed over. Of course, her once flawless ivory skin was stained in varying shades of scarlet and crimson.

All in all, she looked awful. Mauled. Dead. Aura let out a light, musical laugh.

"Well, that's one less obstacle," she cooed.

* * *

Galen stared at her with an undeterminable amount of emotions. She was the ultimate tribute: confident, competent capable, and fairly good-looking. Had it been any other year, Galen would have placed all bets on Aura when it came to winning the Games.

Now though, all he could do was hope that she would lose a fight sometime in the near future. As much as he itched to arrange an accident that would eliminate Aura, Galen knew she was much too popular among the viewers to do such a thing.

He scowled and thumped his fist against the control panel. _Why? _He questioned himself. _Why me? What did I do to deserve this? How could I ever have fallen for a tribute? I'm the Head Gamemaker, after all; I should be above all this! _Galen continued to rage internally, forgetting to keep tabs on all the screens.

The only response he received was a vision of bright red hair and shimmering gold eyes. Galen stood up wearily and stumbled out of the control room.

"Sir?" questioned another Gamemaker, looking up from his work.

"I'm leaving early," Galen stated flatly. "Inform me if anything comes up." He walked out of the chamber with as much dignity as he could. Slowly, he walked to the very end of the hallway, where a brilliantly painted green door beckoned him. Galen unlocked the door and entered the apartment set aside for the Head Gamemaker to rest without actually leaving the control center.

Galen let out a breath as soon as he entered the silence of his apartment. Flopping into a plush couch, he stared blankly at the electronic menu across the room. Eventually, he forced himself onto his feet and pressed random buttons. Within minutes, he was surrounded by a pile of pastries, slabs of meat, candied fruits, bread, and stew.

He laughed at the sheer absurdity of his situation and proceeded to gorge himself on the mound of delicacies.

Once he was done, Galen's mood was considerably more positive. He rang a bell, and an avox girl came running on silent feet.

"Clean this up," he ordered, ignoring how her eyes widened in horror at the sight of the mess.

Galen walked out onto his balcony and gazed at the Capitol partygoers below. He imagined showing this sight to Wren, after she had won the Games.

Already, the image was forming in his mind: Wren stood on the very edge of the balcony, thin boy pressed tight to the iron rails. Her fire-bright hair was more vibrant than ever, and her pale skin glowed in a way that suggested a very recent full-body-polish. She turned to face him; golden eyes alight with wonder and reflecting the shimmer of the Capitol around them. She smiled that slow, tentative smile of hers as she looked over the glittering skyline, at the hundreds of Capitol citizens young and old celebrating her success. A single tear glittered on her cheek, watching the reruns once again on the screens interspaced around the city. Galen stepped closer and hugged her. Wren smiled up at him, sorrow forgotten. Her lips opened slightly, but the word that fell from them was the last thing that he had expected to hear. It was the name of her district partner. "Phobos."


	12. Day Six

Wren POV: Day Six

"Phobos," Wren whispered. She sat up, doing her best not to awaken the slumbering Vera.

"Phobos, are you alright?" she questioned him.

He murmured a response, much too quietly for Wren to hear. She stood up and bridged the ten-foot difference between him and where she and Vera had slept.

"How are you?" She asked him, eyes wide with concern. In the insubstantial moonlight, he looked paler than ice.

"Not well, Wren. I can't move my arm anymore. Not with all the pain that it causes."

She looked at the nasty wound. Even in the faint light, she could see the bright red streaks that indicated a serious infection. "No, don't say that, Phobos! You'll be fine."

He laughed mirthlessly. "I won't make through tonight."

"Yes, you will!"

He reached up and wiped her face. Wren hadn't even realized that she was crying. She forced the tears to stop falling, though it was a difficult process. Once she had managed to calm herself significantly, Wren leaned closer to him.

"Oh, Phobos, I'm so sorry," Wren whispered. "It's all my fault. If I had been faster-"

"No, Wren. There was nothing you could do. I'm lucky you could buy me these extra days, but let's face it-I'm not going to be the Victor." He paused, and then added the bleakest statement of all. "It looks like the odds were not in my favor, were they?"

She let out a shaking, wet breath. Her mind whirled around with a million different emotions; endless grief and sorrow, regret, anger. Finally, Wren decided that it was time to tell him. If Phobos died, and she never admitted her feelings, Wren would never forgive herself.

"Phobos, I have to tell you, now. I love you." saying those three words were the hardest thing she had ever had to.

Wren was greeted by silence. "I-I'm sorry. I should never have opened my mouth," she murmured, preparing to walk away.

"No, wait," he pleaded, griping her hand. "I should have told you earlier. I feel the same way, Wren. How could I not, when you're so strong, and beautiful?"

Wren bit her lip, struggling to stop the torrent of tears. Slowly, she bent so that her hear rested on Phobos's shoulder. "I don't want to lose you," she whispered tilting her head up to see his face.

Phobos did not respond. Instead, he tilted his face down, and his lips met with hers. Wren hugged him through her tears, which now flowed freely down her pale face.

"You won't," he finally responded. "Even if I'm gone, a part of me will always be with you."

Normally, Wren would have laughed at such a concept or such foolishly poetic speeches. Now, all she wanted to do was to remain in that single moment forever.

Wren refused to let Phobos go. After an hour or so, Wren felt his body heat with fever. Worriedly, she offered to get water or a wet cloth, anything to lower his temperature, but Phobos stopped her.

"No, Wren," he rasped. "It's too late for me. Just…try to win."

"I can't promise that, Phobos."

He nodded, full of understanding. "Whatever you do Wren, don't kill yourself just to join me. If you must…die, promise me you'll go out fighting."

"Yes," Wren whispered through a throat so tight she could barely force out the words.

"I love you, Wren," Phobos whispered.

Wren opened her mouth to answer him, but the sound of the cannon cut her off. "Oh, Phobos," Wren whispered, watching as his eyes glazed over and his body appeared to deflate.

Wren held him tighter to her body as hot, bitter tears cascaded down her face, burning her eyes and throat.

The first scream tore itself out of her throat against her will, a yell wrought from the force of her pain and misery. "Phobos," she whimpered. "Why?" "WHY?" she asked again, louder, demanding an answer from the sky itself.

Wren did not even have the energy to turn around when she felt Vera's slender hand on her back.

"We need to leave, now." she said.

Wren turned to her uncomprehendingly. "Leave?"

"Yes. Those shouts-they would have attracted every tribute for miles. We can't afford to stay here."

Wren nodded. Somehow, she found the strength to stand up. Wren shouldered the pack that Vera had already stuffed with supplies and tied her broadsword around her waist.

Finally, she turned and kissed Phobos one last time. "Farewell," she whispered. "I wish there was something more I could do for you. I love you, now and forever."

Wren stood up on wildly shaking legs and nodded curtly to Vera.

The two ran away as quickly as they could, away from the site of the tragedy. As long as she kept moving, Wren could keep all thoughts of Phobos from her mind. As long as she was running, Wren was safe.

When they finally paused to rest, Wren considered the other tributes. There were only eight tributes left; five of the original Careers, the District three boy, herself, and Vera. Something had changed in Wren as Phobos died in her arms. She was cold, unreachable, and there was only one other person in the Arena that she would not hesitate to kill, should the time come.

"Vera, I've been thinking," she said.

"Yes?"

"I'm tired of hiding. It's because of our tactics that Phobos is dead. I think it's time to hunt."

"You cannot be serious! That would make you just as bad as the Careers!"

Wren sighed. Deep down, she knew Vera was right. "Whatever you say, I suppose. I will not hunt the other tributes. But if we do stumble across another, I will not hesitate."

Vera nodded, though her pale eyes were sad and serious. "I know. The Games do that to people."

Wren could no longer bear to stand still with the weight of Phobos's death and Vera's disappointed gaze.

"Let's move," she said, standing up. "We're out of food, and this does not seem like a good place to stop."

Wren stood up, and then paused. Slowly, she turned to face her ally. "Vera?" she questioned. "You don't have a weapon, do you?"

"I don't, actually," she responded. "Well, I have this slingshot I made, but it's not much."

Wren nodded, thinking. "Here, take this," she instructed, handing Vera the long knife that she had salvaged from Phobos's pack. "You might need it one day, and I might not be there to help you."

Vera's eyes widened significantly at the sight of the large blade in her slender hand. She stared at the sharpened edge of the knife.

She briefly considered handing her the other, smaller knife, but decided against it. Instead, she tucked the blade into her leather belt, under the knot that held it together.

"Well, let's get going, then!" Wren cried out, her voice infused with too much cheerfulness.

Vera wondered what had happened to Wren's somber demeanor of just a minute ago. She did not wish to think it, but Vera had the sneaking suspicion that Phobos's death had affected Wren in more ways than one. The small girl watched her suspiciously as the two made their way to the water in search of food.


	13. Day Seven

Day Seven: Galen POV

_Yes!_ His mind exulted, though he only allowed a tiny hint of a smile to appear on his face. The other contender for Wren's heart was now dead. He would never interfere with Galen's plans again.

His jubilant mood faded, however, as he watched a recap of the moments leading up to Phobos's death. Wren had seemed so…enamored of her district counterpart. _No matter_, Galen told himself rapidly. _Wren will stay with me in the end. She has to, there's no one else left_.

_But what if she doesn't win?_ A tiny voice nagged at Galen's thoughts. _What if she does? Can you imagine-a tribute from an outlying district, falling in love with a Capitol resident, and a Gamemaker at that? District Six would cast her out. _

_I don't care, _Galen scolded himself. _Wren is going to win, and then, somehow, everything else will fit into place_.

Pleased with his decision, Galen once again turned to face the screen. He was in the central Game control chamber, where all of the Gamemaker would occasionally converge to make important decisions.

"Whom should we kill off today?" One of the Gamemakers asked. Galen studied the man who had spoken. He was of a slim build, with rather pale skin, dark hair, and piercing blue eyes. The shadow of a beard was just beginning to bloom on his angular face, made smooth by one to many skin-polishes. It took him a while to recognize the man, but eventually Galen recalled the other Gamemaker's name. It was Seneca,Seneca Crane, and he was the second youngest person in the room, after Galen himself. He couldn't be more than twenty three. He'd been hired just a few days before the reaping ceremony.

"Really, Seneca, you have no tact," Galen chided. "We can't just kill everyone off, because the audience would be bored. No, if we're to interfere, let's give the tributes a…challenge."

"Challenge?" Seneca inquired, quite notably confused.

"Yes, Crane, A challenge. A little something to test their survival skills, if you will. What about a flash-flood, or a sudden wildfire? Or perhaps we could introduce an earthquake? Really, the possibilities are endless."

Seneca Crane chuckled darkly. "So…what if we 'challenge' the district six and twelve girls?"

"No!" Galen cried out, a tint too forcefully. He paused to compose himself and cleared his throat. "No, that would not be the best option. Think about it for a moment, newbie. District Six just vowed to kill anyone she finds, and the audience wants to know if she'll succeed. And, if she's _dead_, then the audience will be disappointed."

"Oh," Seneca Crane responded, properly abashed. "I see why they made you Head Gamemaker at age nineteen now."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Galen chided, though he was admittedly pleased with the comment. "Now, newbie, who do you think we should 'challenge'?"

"Well," Seneca began, thinking as he spoke, "there is a particularly unbalanced ratio of Career tributes to normal tributes. And, ever since Aura killed Twinkle, the alliance has been very shaky. I suggest that we send something their way."

"And…?" prompted Galen.

"And…what?"

"What direction will we send them? Will they meet up with another tribute?"

"Well," Seneca paused, unsure. "We could send them northeast, where they'll cut between the paths of the other three, and see what happens then."

Galen did not bother to hide his bloodthirsty smile that time. "Yes…I think that is a very good plan. Keep it up, Crane, and ten or twenty years from now you could have my job."

"Mellysa, will you do the honors?" Galen turned to face the blue-skinned, silver haired Gamemaker on the other side of the chamber.

"Of course," she purred.

"Good. I need a fire, right…here." he instructed.

She turned and faced the screens, typing commands into the computer as quickly as her fingers would move.

Within seconds, the woods fifteen yards behind the cornucopia burst into flame. Everybody in the chamber turned to the overhead screens expectantly.

* * *

"Whoa!" gasped the district four boy, sensing the heat of acrid smoke. "Get up, get up! Fire!" he yelled as he threw his supplies into a bag. "Get up!"

"W…wha?" murmured Aura through her sleepy haze.

"Fire! Everything's on fire!" Aro reiterated.

By that point, Tinsel from district one, Garth from district two, and Pearl from district four were all wide awake.

"Come on, Aura!" yelled Garth, sprinting towards the woods. Aro and Pearl followed suit. Tinsel paused, losing precious seconds as he stared at the district two girl. For a Career, Aura was admittedly small, and she looked so…innocent…with her black hair spilling over her lightly tanned face.

Without pausing to consider his actions, Tinsel pushed the few weapons he'd managed to salvage into his bag and scooped Aura up in his large arms.

Turning, he sprinted after the other Career tributes as fast as his legs would take him. It was not a moment too soon, for the remaining supplies were consumed by flame no more than five seconds after he left.

"Come on!" called Garth from farther ahead. "We won't wait for you!"

Tinsel muttered a string of four-letter obscenities under his breath and ran after his allies.

"What's happening?" Aura gasped out, finally awakening from her sleep.

* * *

Galen shook his head, chuckling. _Oblivious much?_ He questioned her mentally. Apparently even the most perfect Career tribute had one dangerous fault.

* * *

"Fire," Tinsel managed to pant between labored breaths.

Aura looked like she was going to add something more, but decided against it when she saw Tinsel's face. His cheeks were bright red and sweat was falling from his temples in rivers. Sighing, she leaned back and tried her best not to fall out of her ally's arms.

After about ten minutes of running, Tinsel collapsed on the ground. Aura sliped and flew forward, limbs splayed in every direction.

"Ugh," she moaned, rubbing her leg. Aura dared to look behind and saw the fire, still creeping towards them. "Tinsel, get up!" Aura screamed, but he only lay there. "Tin, we have to leave!" she gripped his arm and yanked him forcefully to his feet. Draping Tinsel's arm over her shoulders, Aura began walking as quickly as Tinsel's battered frame would allow.

"Come on," she grunted. Aura dared a glance back to check out how quickly the flames were spreading. Her eyes widened in horror upon glimpsing the encroaching scarlet flames, now only about twenty yards behind them. "Run, you idiot, run!" Aura shrieked.

* * *

"Okay, we can stop the flames," Galen instructed in the remote Game Center. "They're near the other tributes now."

The flames flickered out; sparing Aura and Tinsel form a painful death by fire.

* * *

Despite the knowledge that they were safe, Aura did not pause for a moment. She trudged forward with the exhausted Tinsel, searching for her allies.

"Oh, you're alive," sneered Gath when the pair emerged from the smoke.

"Yes, of course we are. Oh, and Garth?" she asked sweetly, "Thank you ever so much for helping us back there." Still smiling a sweet, childish smile, Aura slapped Gath across the face so hard that she left a blood-red handprint across his cheek.

* * *

_Ouch, that's going to bruise_, Galen thought. He allowed his smile to show, and gave his employees a few minutes to snicker quietly. "Well, enough of that," he instructed. "Now we have to see if any other tributes take the bait."

* * *

"Should we set up camp?" Aro suggested.

"Of course not!" cried Pearl. "We should hunt."

"No, what about Tinsel?" cried Aura, helping him to the ground.

"He'll just slow us down," Garth responded in a cold monotone.

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Why, get rid of him, of course."

"No! I won't let you!"

"Excuse us, please," Garth muttered, gripping Aura by her forearm.

She protested, struggling, but Garth dragged her into the trees.

"Listen, Aura," he hissed. "All he's doing is slowing us down. And-he inhaled too much smoke. He won't make it until the end."

"But you would _kill_ your own ally!"

Garth snarled, punching a tree. "For goodness sakes', Aura, you're a Career! Act like it! And anyway, do you want to win, or not?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"It's one less person to keep us from winning!"

"He just saved my damn life, Garth!" Aura screamed. "I'm not going to repay him by killing him!"

"Aro, do me a favor," Garth called. "Hold onto her while I dispose of that deadweight."

"No," screamed Aura. "Stop!"

"We have to, dearie," Pearl snarled. "It's no different to what you did to Twinkle. It's no different than what you've done to all the other tributes you've met."

"Tinsel!" Aura gasped out, horrified. "Tinsel, get up! Tin, _please_!"

"Sorry, he's not going to get up, Aura. Save your breath." Garth laughed in her ear, viciously.

"Could I do the honors?" piped up Aro from where he was inspecting his knife.

"No, I want to!" whined Garth, much like a small child.

"But it's my revenge, you see. I was much closer to Twinkle than anyone else. And it's quite obvious that Aura is closer to Tinsel than any other person in the alliance."

Garth sighed impatiently. "Oh, fine. But the next kill belongs to me."

"We'll see," Aro responded. He ignored the rest of the tributes ank kneeled by Tinsel's face.

"Well, well, well, not so strong now, are you, Tin?"

"Shut…up…" he wheezed out, struggling to breathe.

Angrily, Aro punched him in the windpipe. "You shut up, District One. You're going to join Twinkle soon. If she wasn't prepared enough to win, then you aren't either." Aro paused to laugh manically. "No, District One won't have a Victor this year."

"Aro, stop!" Aura shrieked from the sidelines. "Can't you see that he's better now? Tinsel won't slow us down when we hunt!"

"Sorry, sweetheart, our minds are made up," Aro sneered.

"Tinsel!" cried Aura, desperation clear in her face. "Tinsel!"

Tinsel turned his face, and his green eyes met with Aura's brown ones. _I forgive you_, he mouthed.

Aura opened her mouth to respond, but the only sound to leave her throat was a faint croak. She stared at Tinsel helplessly, struggling against the two Career tributes holding her down.

The knife descended. Tinsel cried out weakly. Aura screamed, finding her voice at last. The cannon boomed across the Arena.

"Well. That's done," Garth stated. "Let's go hunting!"

"Yes!" Pearl rushed into the forest, whooping joyfully as she ran. Garth and Aro raced after her, laughing. Aura ran after them, though slowly. She allowed the distance between herself and the other Careers to grow larger before finally dropping out of the chase altogether.

Aura turned back and headed to the pile of supplies so carelessly abandoned around Tinsel's body. The hovercraft had already been and gone, leaving only a small bloodstain on the ground.

Aura cried out upon seeing it, but wasted no time doing what she needed to do. She loaded her pack with food and all the leftover weapons. Before turning to leave, Aura pressed her callused fingers to her lips and lowered them to the puddle of Tinsel's blood.

"Thank you," Aura murmured. "You saved my life, Tinsel. And I'll make them pay, I swear I will. I'll win for the two of us." She took off in the opposite direction of where the other tributes had headed.

* * *

To Galen's horror, she was set in the direct path of Vera and Wren.


	14. Day Eight

**Hi everyone! I apologize for all of the delays. I've been up to my eyeballs in homework, and now I still have finals to take. So, I'm sorry about how short this is, but I've had absolutely no time to work. In fact, I should be working on that five page Spanish essay right now...**

**Well, anyway, enjoy. I promise to updade my others as soon as possible.**

* * *

**Wren POV: Day eight, sometime after midnight**

Vera stared around the campsite, searching for any sign of intruders. Her pale face and black hair glimmered silver in the light of the full moon.

She whipped her head around, her ears having detected a sound. "Wren?" Vera murmured. "Wren, I think I heard something."

"What?" Wren hissed, instantly awake.

"Footsteps, I think. I heard them from that direction."

"Vera, get behind me," Wren instructed quietly.

"But-"

"Get behind me _now_."

No sooner had Wren uttered the words than a wild-eyed Aura burst out from the trees. The moment she spotted them, her vision cleared slightly.

"Hello, fancy meeting you here," she grinned.

"You," Wren hissed. "Leave now, or I'll kill you!"

Aura threw back her head and laughed; a tinkling sound with just a hint of insanity. "Never," she hissed.

Wren drew the sword from around her belt and studied her opponent. Aura mirrored her actions.

"Vera, go away," Wren hissed. "Hide."

"Now, now, let the girl stay if she wants," Aura laughed.

Rather than respond, Wren swung her sword in a deadly arc. Aura sidestepped and brought her own blade towards Wren's chest. She blocked the blow with one of her own. Wren swept the blade outward again and leapt back. Aura's slash was met with empty air.

Vera watched helplessly. It was unclear who would win. Aura had years of training behind her, but Wren had an abundance of natural talent. Aura was smaller than Wren by several inches, yet she was well-muscled, and she no longer had any adversity to taking another life.

Still they fought; the clanging of metal ringing across the Arena. Aura worried that the other Careers would try to find them, and then they would all be lost.

"Just die already!" she screamed in frustration.

Wren lunged forward, sword in front of her. Aura just managed to turn out of the way, but the metal blade caught in the sleeve of her tunic and ripped through into a tree, where it stuck.

Aura lunged forward with her own blade. In a rush of adrenaline, Wren kicked the blade out of the way. Both girls watched as the sword flipped over itself and landed within the river.

"Well, what are you waiting for, then?" Aura sneered. "Kill me. It doesn't matter. My allies are surely coming by now."

Wren paused indecisively. She _should_ kill Aura, in fact, she had vowed to. But the thought of pushing a blade into soft flesh, of feeling the roughness of bone against the thin razor edge stopped her. As much as she might pretend, Wren simply was not a clod-blooded murderer.

Aura sneered triumphantly. "Have it your way, then." She lifted a knife in her right hand, one that Wren had not noticed before. She prepared herself to die, but Aura had other ideas.

She threw the blade with deadly accuracy. Wren heard a wet thump as it contacted with its target.

She whirled around, forgetting all about Aura. The district two tribute made her escape as Wren cried out in horror.

"Vera!"

The tiny tribute girl lay in a puddle of her own blood. The knife had entered her shoulder and penetrated past the bone to come out of her back just below the shoulder blade. Vera cried silently, tears streaming down her face as she stared at Wren's face.

"Oh, Vera, I'm so sorry," Wren gasped. "So, so, sorry."

"It's okay," Vera murmured. "It doesn't matter now."

Wren looked up into the Arena sky, searching for the correct thing to say. "Just be strong a while longer, Vera. You'll be fine. Just hold on,"

Vera nodded. The blood was coming more slowly now. The tiny girl's eyes were wide with fear and wet with pain. The silvery moonlight reflected softly off of her light olive skin, now white beneath its color.

The light shone in her eyes, so that it seemed that they glowed from within. _Moonlight_...Wren realized. Vera's eyes were the color of moonlight.

Wordlessly, Wren clutched Vera's hand, watching the small girl as the light behind her eyes dimmed.

The cannon rang across the Arena, but still Wren clutched the still, cool hand in her own desperate clasp.

She remained there, immobile. By the time that she heard the sound of footsteps behind her, it was too late to run.


	15. Day Eight Part Two

**Hello once again, my dear readers! Thank you ever so much for sticking to Wren's story, even through my extended absence from the Fanfic world.**

**Anyway, I suppose I should do disclaimers. Chapter fifteen is a little late to start, but oh well.**

**No, I do not own ****The Hunger Games****. It belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

**Wren POV: Day eight, early morning**.

Wren screamed when the other Career tributes burst from the thick foliage, murderous light flooding their eyes.

She scrambled away from Vera's bleed out, cold body and tried to run, but the Careers were faster. The largest of the boys, Garth, grasped her by her braid, but howled as the thorns woven into the hair bit into his hand.

"Rotten little-" he yelled, bombarding Wren with curses.

"Why, thank you," she sneered. She was determined to not show pain or fear even as they killed her.

The district four tribute, Aro, laughed, Pearl joining in a moment later. Wren thrashed around, but Garth had her tightly by her neck.

Wren breathed in, out, in, out, slowly, struggling to calm the nervous flutter of her heart. Her thoughts whirled around as she thought for a way to escape. _Okay-he has me by the neck-one arm chocking me, the other restraining my head. That means I can try to kick him, but I'm facing the wrong way, so I won't have enough force to escape. Wait-what about the knife? I could do some damage with that, if I could just reach it._

Silently, Wren slipped her hand down into her belt. She smiled as she felt the hilt of the blade slip into her palm.

Garth was still talking, boasting of the painful way they would kill her, but Wren drowned out his voice. In a single, fluid motion, she drew out the knife and plunged it into his arm.

Garth shrieked and released Wren. She whirled around, knife coming away in her hand. Without any remorse, she plunged the blade into his ribcage.

_Kill or be killed…_

And Wren was not ready to die. Pearl and Aro looked at each other. After training with each other since childhood, their minds worked on the same wavelength.

As one, they lunged for Wren. She managed a haphazard slash at the pair before running away. They pursed her without a backward glance of Garth, who lay bleeding to death in the clearing.

Aro lifted his hand, displaying a large throwing knife. He threw the silver blade at Wren. It missed any vital organs, imbedding itself in her leg.

She stumbled and fell to the ground.

"You can't escape us," Aro sneered.

"Let me kill her," Pearl requested.

"Why? I brought her down, it's my kill."

"Na, it's mine. After all, you promised Garth the next kill was his."

"And? He's dead."

"He meant that you would not be the one to perform the next kill. So, I'm the only one left."

Aro exhaled loudly, obviously annoyed. "Do it, then."

Pearl grinned savagely and turned to face Wren as she struggled to get up. "Now, now, sweetie, don't struggle,"

Wren turned around and spit into Pearl's face. She snarled, infuriated, and jammed a knife into Wren's back.

Wren gasped, mouth twisting in agony as she struggled to keep from crying out.

She writhed around on the ground, red blood mixing in with the dust. It was so _painful_…

Each breath she took sent a new shot of searing heat down her back. She could feel the wound throbbing with each pounding heartbeat. Already, the adrenaline that was numbing the hurt was fading. Now Wren could do nothing but howl in agony.

She tasted blood, and with a shock she realized that she had bitten her lower lip clear through.

Finally, Wren took a tremulous breath and managed to reign in her whooping gasps. The throbbing in her back was becoming less pronounced, Wren realized. Somehow, the insight that she was dying did not frighten her as much as it should have.

She was tired, Wren realized. Tired of fighting the inevitable. And it was so nice to lay down her guard for once. Already, the memories of what she was fighting for-her life, her family-no longer seemed important. So when her heartbeat faltered, she could not find it in herself to feel anything but release.

Wren closed her eyes, allowing in the blissful darkness that numbed the pain. At last, she was free.

* * *

**But wait, there's more! Seriously people, this isn't the end of Wren and Galen's story...not yet, anyway.**


	16. Day Eight Part Three

**Greeting, my readers!**

**This chapter is a bit short, but I decided to publish it before I leave for Florida on Sunday for a week. Also, I'm glad because school is over! I'm FREEEEEEE!**

**So, I'm going to beg a huge favor from you. Please click on my profile page and answer a VERY IMPORTANT poll relating to my Clove fanfiction. You'd be doing me a huge favor.**

**No, I do not own The Hunger Games. If I did, I would have played Katniss in the movie.**

* * *

**Galen POV: Day eight.**

"No!" Galen cried, no longer caring who heard him. "Send the hovercraft out now!"

Galen paced the chamber, tearing out his hair in fear. "And get the body into the hospital!" He punched the wall and ran out to the hospital adjoining the Games Center. It was where victors were sent to be healed and dead tribute's bodies were cleaned up.

Galen arrived at about the same time as the hovercraft did. He watched Wren's body as it was wheeled in.

"Kale," Galen yelled at the doctor, "Don't you dare let her die!"

"Galen, she's already dead. The cannon sounded."

"I don't care! Give her blood, stich her up, do something! I swear, if you don't you'll find yourself buried under next year's Cornucopia!"

Kale paled beneath the purple tint of his tattoos. "I'll see what I can do…" he mumbled.

"See that you do," instructed Galen, jogging beside him.

The two entered the small hospital room. Wren was placed onto the bed in the middle. Galen noticed how small she looked, how lost, her skin bled-out and white. The only hint of color in the entire chamber was the shock of flame-bright hair hanging limply about her shoulders.

The doctor injected Wren's arm with an enormous needle connected to a bag of blood. He did the same thing for her other arm and began to pump it in. He forced an oxygen mask onto her face.

Kale continued to wander about the room, injecting Wren with first one thing, then another. He sewed shut the gaping wound in her back while Galen watched in a mixture of horror and fascination.

"Wake up, wake up," he pleaded. "Wren, I need you to wake up."

Wren did not respond. "She'll be fine, once the drugs come into effect," Kale informed Galen. "I had to re-start her heart and replace about half of her blood. I also had to make sure that her brain didn't suffer any brain damage and inject her with new cells to reverse what little harm there was. But it might take a couple of days. She suffered such damage…"

Galen nodded. "I understand."

"Now, Galen," Kale began. "Have you thought this through? She can never return to district six now. Her family and friends will all believe that she died. To the rest of the world, she is gone. How will you explain her presence?"

Galen shook his head. "It doesn't matter, as long as she's safe. I'll hide her as a Capitol citizen if it comes to that."

"Oh, really? Just how will that work? Nobody here will know her. What will you say she just popped out of the ground?" Kale challenged Galen. "Perhaps it would be kinder to just let her die, Galen," he murmured softly.

Galen glared at the Capitol doctor, his pale eyes colder than ice. "Save her, Kale, or I swear to you, you won't live past the end of the week. Understand?"

Kale swallowed forcefully. "Y…yes…" he stammered as beads of nervous sweat fell from his forehead.

"Good," Galen snapped. "I have to go, now, but I'll be back later tonight." With that, he whirled around on his heel and strode purposefully out of the room.

Kale slumped into a chair and tried not to succumb to the panic that Galen's visit had instilled in him.

* * *

**That's if for now, but please vote on my poll!**


	17. Day Nine

**I'm so sorry for the delay! I've been struggling to get to all of my stories, and somehow that slowed me down even more. Besides that, I've hardly had a free moment for myself.**

**If you liked this story, please don't forget to read/review my others! I need sugguestions for fears and songs on my "fears" fiction, and my Cato/Clove story currently has a poll going on.**

**I do not own The Hunger Games. I thought we'd already established that.**

* * *

Aura stalked silently through the trees, every sense on high alert. Dried blood was caked onto her clothing, covering a shallow cut on her ribs, but she gave no indication that it pained her.

A freshly cleaned knife glimmered wickedly in her left hand as she pushed deeper into the wild foliage.

A sneer forced its way onto her face as she recalled the battle she'd partaken in last night. Sure, she'd been injured, but it had been worth it to see the tall girl's reaction when she realized her ally was dying.

_If only I could've seen how _she_ died_, Aura thought. _It must've been good. Well, never mind_, she scolded herself. _As soon as you win, you'll find out_. Aura let out a short laugh, noting dully that she sounded half-crazed.

She shook her head, focusing on the present. Aro was still out there, and she would make him pay for killing her dearest ally.

* * *

Aro and Pearl sat by their campsite, kicking angrily at the embers of dying flame. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes, much to her chagrin and fury.

"We're going to have to split up," she told Aro.

He looked at her, shocked.

"I know, I know-we've been allies since we started training." She sighed and kicked at a particularly large pile of ash. "But-it won't be easy when it comes down to the two of us. You know that. We can't take that chance."

Aro exhaled softly. He was furious with himself-a Career Tribute did not feel sadness-a Career Tribute did not feel anything but bloodlust, ever. "Sure," he laughed. "Easier for me, anyway."

Pearl snorted. "You wish, fish boy. If anything, I'll be the one going home."

Coming to a silent agreement, the twosome split their supplies into two equal sections.

"Goodbye, Aro," Pearl murmured. For once, her harsh voice had been stripped some of its hard edge.

Aro pulled her into a rather loose hug. They stared at each other a few moments more before walking off in opposite directions, Pearl east and Aro west.

* * *

The District Three boy rolled out from where he'd made camp that night slowly. He was breathing rather heavily, as if he'd awoken from a nightmare.

He clutched at his weapon-an axe that he'd found on the ground a few days past. The weapon had been in some sort of battlefield, for it had been covered in the brown crust of old blood and surrounded by footprints.

Whoever had used the axe had either lost, or the winner did not wish to keep the blade. Why that would be was beyond him. He was clumsy with it, but only because he was new to the trade. Already he'd polished the weapon with a clump of moss that he'd found by the riverbank and sharpened it with a large rock and a pile of sand. It was his now, _his_.

* * *

Galen stared at the live video feeds blankly, his eyes glazed over. He couldn't concentrate on the remaining tributes. His mind was worlds away, in a stark white hospital room beside a certain flame-haired girl. Oh, how he longed to join Wren!

But he had appearances to keep, Galen knew. And if he blew off his duties, he would soon find himself living as an Avox. And that was the best scenario he could think of. Most likely he would be tortured until no shred of his former self remained before he was executed brutally.

No, Galen was going to play his part. He would do it, if only for the flame-haired girl who so openly despised him. It was the only way he would live long enough to make her love him.

* * *

Wren was dreaming; horrible nightmares that ripped through her already fragile mind.

She relived the deaths of Phobos and Vera, wept as she was unable to save them. She saw her own hands, stained crimson with blood, as they shriveled into cracked, black-stained claws. Wren screamed silent screams as she shouted for help, but she was caught in the torrent of images. She was in the bloodbath again as one of the tributes ripped at her long red hair, only this time it turned into viscous, ruby-bright blood as she collapsed into a lake of liquid fire.

Wren's mind struggled to escape the images, but she was caught, trapped in her useless, broken body.

A single tear feel down her sunburned skin as the girl struggled against invisible bonds.


	18. Day Ten

**Well, here is the long awaited (ha ha!) chapter eighteen of Wren and Galen's story.**

**I know, I know, that it's short, but I have a longer chapter coming up. And I have many, many, many plot twists in mind...ones that I hope will leave you shocked and amazed.**

**I do not own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does. And do I look like a middle-aged, blonde woman to you? Nope.**

**So remember, vote on my CatoxClove poll, and recomend a song/fear for my Hunger Games fic "Fears". And as always...review!**

* * *

**Day Ten: Wren POV**

Wren knew that she wasn't dead even before she opened her eyes, but she wasn't sure if she was alive, either.

There was pain, though it had dampened into a dull ache that still left her with enough of a sense of self to think.

Wren could feel the soft, slightly porous slab of foam that held her up; the cold, silky weave of the sheets over her. The sweaty, greasy weight of hair that hadn't been washed in days hung over her head. She felt uncomfortable, slightly ticklish prickles in her knuckles and in the insides of her elbows.

If she concentrated, she could hear the faint beeping of monitoring machines. _Was that my heartbeat?_ Wren questioned, though she was far too lethargic to open her eyes and check. Though she wasn't a medic, she was fairly certain that one's heart should beat faster.

_What happened to me?_ The thought formed slowly. A stronger flash of pain ran through her back, and the motionless girl winced. A sudden onrush of memories flooded through Wren's brain. _I died_, she realized suddenly. _I died, and…somehow, I'm still breathing._

Wren's eyes snapped open at long last. She cried out at the blinding onrush of light. Tears formed in her eyes as she blinked and struggled to bring the world into focus.

Wires protruded from her hands and arms, connected to easily accessible blood vessels. Bruises glowed faintly underneath the needles, staining her arm in violent shades of yellow, blue, and black.

"You're awake!" cried a gleeful voice.

Wren froze, her blood running colder than ice. She'd heard that voice only once before, but it was impossible to forget. Low and gravelly, the tone was a shocking contrast to the barest hint of an accent-the slightly breathy, hissing gasps of the Capitol dialect.

"You!" Wren shrieked. "I thought I told you to never come near me again!"

"You did," Galen smirked. "But as you're just a tribute, and I am Head Gamemaker, I get the last say in that."

"But you _can't_ be here!" Wren gasped, searching for something, anything that could get her out of this situation. "I'm_ dead_!"

Galen stared at her. "Are you now?"

"Well, yes!" Wren exploded, with equal parts exasperation and fear. "The Career girl killed me, stuffed a knife into my back. I _felt_ my heart stop." She was shaking now, from anger and terror, not cold. And something else. A terrible foreboding sense that perhaps this Capitol fool truly was telling the truth. Wren gasped suddenly. "What did you do?" she shrieked. "Kill everyone else the moment that they stabbed me?"

Galen shook his head. "No, Wren, listen."

She shook her head so sharply that is hurt. "No!" Wren cried. "I won't listen, and you can't make me!"

The door opened suddenly, and a Capitol doctor walked in. Wren felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.

All of the fight left her suddenly. And the feeling of free-falling only got worse with each word he spoke.

"We revived you, Wren," the doctor was explaining. She shook her head, but she could only block out so much of the sound. "…Have to understand…dead to them…have a choice."

The flame-haired girl looked up with bright, accusatory eyes. Kale flinched at her gaze, though he regained his composure quickly.

"You already know that you can't go back to District Six. Everyone there thinks you're dead."

"I know," Wren whispered in spite of herself, her thoughts flashing back to her home momentarily. She saw her brothers and sisters in her mind's eye. How long had it been since she'd seen them? Could she bear to live without ever seeing them again or even hoping to see them again?

"So right now, you have two options. You can either allow us to…alter you-_slightly_" he hastened to add upon seeing her expression, "So that you can assimilate into the Capitol, or you could finish what you started and die."

Wren closed her eyes, curing the tears that prickled in her eyes. To join the Capitol was the one evil she wished she would never partake of. To feast and alter herself while others in the Districts died of hunger was the worst possible crime. It would make her a monster, a coward.

And yet…she'd already died, once. Wren shuddered at the memory of the emptiness that had occupied her soul, her heart, as the life left her. She feared that nothingness more than she would have believed possible.

And so, she chose the only option that she could. Exhaling in a sharp hiss filled with self-loathing, Wren made her decision. "I want…to live," she whispered.

_I am a coward_.


	19. Day Eleven

**Okay, I feel like such a fool right now. I was listening to One Direction's cover of the song Forever Young, and now I'm crying. I don't want to grow old...the average life expectancy is 76, and I'm already 15. Oh, gods. I want to become famous before then. I want to publish a novel, star in a movie, publish a music album, and become a recognised artist**. **I want to do it now, before the novelty fades.**

**And I promise, that is the rest of my pity party for the next ten chapters or so, unless something truly heart-shattering occurs. I swear I'm not usually so sad. I rarely stop laughing. But this is one of those times when I just stop and wonder. About everything. Wel, it tends to happen at the beggining of a new school year. I'm used to it.**

**Anyway, on with the story!**

**I do not own Suzanne Collins' brain, unfortunaltly. So that means that I did not write the Hunger Games.**

* * *

**Day Eleven: Wren POV.**

She'd agreed to Galen's terms, but that didn't mean that she had to speak to him. Wren planned to escape as soon as the underground hospital discharged her.

So far, she'd been very strict with Kale and his cosmetic ideals. She would accept an upgrade of hair and eyes, but she would not dye her skin. He was currently attempting to convince her that metal tattoos were absolutely essential to her new disguise.

"I told you already, no!" she exploded as the doctor held a series of bright orange paint chips to her skin.

Kale scowled at her. "Young lady, do you are to enlighten me as to _why_ we are doing this?" he hissed.

Wren exhaled slowly. They'd been through this ten times already. "To make me unrecognizable," she scoffed. "As if turning my skin orange will help with that. Please. I'd rather get tattooed."

"We can arrange that," Kale offered eagerly.

Wren didn't even bother to reply. "Is it time to do the hair and eyes yet?" she quipped.

The doctor nodded and moved to grab the locks of rust-colored hair. Wren closed her eyes and braced herself as he began work, sending snippets of hair flying and leaving distasteful odors hovering in the air.

A good hour later, Wren studied herself doubtfully in the mirror. Her naturally wavy, rust-colored hair had been straightened and dyed. Some strands of red were sharper now, unnaturally colored to resemble blood. Faint streaks of bronze, copper, and gold could be seen throughout the entire mass. What little was left of the original color had been polished somehow to look metallic. Her whole head gleamed in the light.

Wren couldn't decide whether or not she should hate it, yet. The fact that it was her in the mirror had yet to fully register in her mind.

"Eyes?" prompted Kale, standing over her with an unfortunately sharp-looking needle.

Wren winced but allowed the sedative to be inserted into her system. The last thing she saw before she went under was a series of lethal-looking sharp objects and pigmented tubes of color.

* * *

**Galen POV: Day Eleven**.

Galen didn't know what to expect when he went to find his girl in the hospital. A bloody corpse, perhaps? A polished Capitol woman so altered he wouldn't recognize her?

When Wren came into his view, however, he stopped cold.

Her red hair shone in a way that had little to do with fire now, and more to do with cold, hard metal.

Her skin had lost its sunburn and was paler, the effects of a full-body polish performed in a darkened underground facility.

But it was her eyes that stopped him cold.

Kale had enlarged them, somehow. And the color was different, wrong, almost. Instead of the dark golden amber he'd become accustomed to, this girl's eyes were bright yellow-gold, like those of a cat, swirled through with metallic strands of copper, bronze, gold, silver, even red. Tiny gemstones, no larger than a half millimeter across, ringed the outer edge of the iris, a rainbow that swirled from red to violet to blue and green.

Galen had no doubt that they were real; he could tell from the way that they reflected the light, in a bouquet of flashing lights.

"Wren?" he asked timidly.

"Who else would it be?" she scowled. "It's still me, idiot."

The Gamemaker was relieved to find that her voice was still the same. Her glorious District accent had yet to disappear. Not that he'd admit how grateful he was. Not when she would see is as a vulnerability, or worse, an insult.

Galen turned to face the doctor. "Couldn't change her personality as well, could you?" Galen was forced to duck as the pillow hurled across the room in his general direction.

"This is only the first step," Kale informed the Head Gamemaker as the sedative connected by tube to Wren kicked in, forcing her to sleep.

Galen glanced at the now sleeping figure on the bed as her angry thrashing became ever more lethargic. "What else will you do, then?" he asked.

"Gold tattoos if I can convince her," Kale told him. "A swirl of vines, flowers, possibly even birds and flames."

"Sounds…promising," Galen admitted. "But will it be enough to keep them from recognizing her?"

"Well, not really," the doctor explained. "I might have to reconstruct the girl's face to accomplish that. Give her a different chin and cheekbones."

Galen shuddered. _It's the only way_, he told himself. "Do it," he instructed the doctor. "Do the face, but not anything else. Let her chose what she wants on her new self."

Kale nodded. "Check. Now let me show you a little something about face shapes."

Galen nodded, although he was thoroughly confused at that point. Face shapes? Whatever was that?

"Wren has this sort of oblong face," Kale explained. Her cheeks and forehead are the same width, and her chin is rounded.

"What I would do is turn it into a heart-shape or oval," the doctor explained. "I'd fine down her chin and sculpt those cheeks, so that her face continuously narrows. If I were to make a heart out of her face, I'd make the hair of her forehead grow down into a point."

"Will it work?" Galen wanted to know.

Kale fixed him with a droll look. "Who do you think you're talking to, idiot? Now get out and let me work."

Galen left the hospital chamber, shooting one last desperate glance at the girl he loved, wondering if he would be able to recognize her by the time he and Kale were finished.

* * *

**THE ARENA: Day Eleven**

Aura allowed a smirk to form on her face as she closed in on Aro. The District Four boy was going to _pay_.

She tied four one-inch long knives to each hand with the remains of the District Twelve girl's belt, where they protruded like claws between her knuckles.

She moved her favorite knife to her right hand.

Long as her forearm, the wickedly sharp blade glittered wickedly in the fading afternoon light. Aura allowed herself five more seconds to readjust her belt and the other knives strapped to it.

Slowly, she crept up behind her prey. Ahead of her, Aro dropped to his knees to drink at the stream.

Aura leapt forward, crashing through branches in her hurry. Aro tensed and reached for his knife as the dark haired girl closed the distance between them.

* * *

The district three boy was starving. He hacked at a pine tree with his axe until it released a chunk of bark. He bit into it, chipping a tooth in the process.

"Ahh!" he screamed, cursing the tree with all of the colorful profanity his district had to offer, including a few suggestions about what it should do with a radio antenna.

The cannon boomed suddenly across the Arena, starting him and reminding him that he was trying not to attract attention.

He stared around the surrounding trees, expecting another tribute to jump him at any moment.

He took off to find a new hiding place.

* * *

Pearl laughed as she heard the cannon, throwing her face into the air. She was one person closer to winning the Games.

Who had died? She wondered. The pathetic little boy from Three? That little sea-urchin Aura? Or her own district partner, Aro?

That last thought stifled her joy, slightly. Oh, Gods, _Aro_. It was better if he was dead, but could she live with the pain?

"I love you," she whispered, so quietly that she wasn't sure if she'd said it or not.

Thw words shocked her, and she stood there, frozen. But now that she'd heard it, she knew it to be true. In a way, she'd always adored her training partner, her best friend, her worst enemy.

She shook her head and tightened her grip on her curved sword. It was time to win, once and for all.

The ghosts belonged to the Arena and the Captiol.

* * *

**Ya'll know the drill. Review, vote on my poll, check out my other stories and recommend a song or a fear for my other fiction.**


	20. Day Twelve

**Hey everyone, I'm so sorry for the delay! I've been busy with school, and I've been taking a break from this to focus on my original stories, art, and music. But here I am!**

**No, I do not own the Hunger Games. All rights go to Suzanne Collins, the real genius behind the stories.**

* * *

Day Twelve: Wren POV.

The girl's furious shrieks echoed across the vast underground hospital. "What did you do to me?" Wren gasped.

She couldn't turn away from her reflection, though she couldn't bear to look at it anymore. Nothing-_nothing_-remained of her old self. Her face had changed so much, Wren could barely recognize herself. Her cheekbones were higher and more defined, almost feline. Her chin narrowed to a sharp point. Gone was the softly rounded face she'd once shared with her siblings. And her skin was paler than it'd ever been before, a milky color so white that it was almost blue.

Not even her soul seemed to be the same. She poured over the reflection of her eyes, searching desperately for the person she had been before the Arena. There was nothing, not even a hint of the humble District girl she'd once been behind her bejeweled, bright eyes. Where had the tenderness in her expression gone, the guarded half-smile that could never really be eradicated? She was gone, vanished, replaced by a girl whose gem-encrusted eyes could not completely mask the emptiness within her with their shimmer.

She turned to face the Capitol doctor and spoke with a voice that was cracking from all of the emotion captured inside-horror, anger, sorrow, regret, awe. "What…what did you do to me?" she demanded as she felt the telltale prickle of tears invade her eyes. No. She would not cry in front of this monster.

"You look nothing like yourself!" crowed the detestable Kale. "You look almost beautiful!"

Wren drew back sharply, hating that she'd allowed anything the idiotic Capitol doctor had said to her. "What was wrong with me before?" she demanded as a brief flash of memory illuminated her old face.

"Why-nothing…nothing!" Kale exclaimed nervously. "It's just that you were, well…looked…you weren't…"

Wren snorted. "Save it," she growled as she turned over on her side and closed her eyes against the traitorous tears. A pounding ache was forming behind her eyes, and death was beginning to sound like the better of the two options. There was nothing left for her in the world, save for a sadistic Gamemaker who was in all likelihood, completely and utterly insane.

Suddenly her newly altered eyes popped open. She'd gone this far, she'd sacrificed her old self already. Why not go all out? It'd be like she was shedding her old skin for a new one, as a snake would. And perhaps the terrible, terrible pain that had filled her heart where her soul had once been would begin to ease if she could no longer see any traces of the District girl she had once been.

"You know what?" Wren asked, rhetorically. "Give me those tattoos you insist on. I'm done even caring."

She pretended that Kale's ecstatic grin didn't really bother her. But it did. A lot.

Wren forced herself to concentrate on the tattoo designs Kale had spread before her. She saw a nice curling flame reminiscent of ribbons swirling in the wind. She saw silhouettes for every type of bird imaginable and several dozen types of vines.

In the end, she chose a rose vine, her favorite flower. The thorns were exaggerated, however, and what few flowers were left looked sickly and old. The whole thing was wrapped in fluid tongues of fire and intricate knotted patterns.

Wren smirked her way through the pain of having metal inlayed in her skin, telling herself that she couldn't care less. Thoughts of Galen's horrified expression when he saw her occupied her brain. _I've lost it_, a distant part of her mind screamed, but she pushed that aggravating idea out of her head forcibly.

When at last she saw her new reflection, she couldn't believe it. She was no longer simply Wren, the timid bird. She was fierce, deadly. She'd survived what most people shouldn't have been able to, cheated death even. Her milky white skin was inlayed with metal-gold and red-gold mostly and spotted with tiny blood-red stones, like some macabre glitter. She wasn't even human on the outside anymore.

Wren laughed. A dim, distant part of her brain noted that she'd gone insane, and this time, it was harder to ignore. "So, when can I leave?" she asked the doctor. "It's not like anyone could recognize me anymore."

"S…soon," he stammered, having been caught off guard with this question. "Galen was going to have you moved to his apartment…" he trailed off, seeing her expression. "Not the Gamemaker apartment, but the one that he owns outside of the Center," he explained.

As if that was what worried her. "I'm supposed to stay with that monster?" Wren scowled. "I'd rather go back the Arena!"

"I don't think you have much of a choice in that," spoke a gravelly voice from the doorway.

Wren turned slowly, trying hard not to blush. Why should _she_ be embarrassed? "Oh, hello, Galen," she murmured. She bit back a laugh when she saw his eyes widen at her new face.

His mouth opened and closed slowly several times. Finally he managed to choke out "Wren…your face!"

She raised an eyebrow, a feat that she'd recently discovered her new façade could accomplish. "Yes?" she drawled.

"Oh, nothing," he laughed.

_A little too forced_; Wren thought. How soon would it be before he became bored of her, now that she looked like everyone else? "Well, let me know when you decide to admit that you hate me," she giggled.

The Head Gamemaker's eyes widened yet again. Wren thought that it was a miracle that they had not popped out of his head yet. "It might be convenient to let me know before you force me to move in to your place," Wren added breezily. "Just so I don't have to move twice. I hate packing, you know." The voice inside her head was laughing now, congratulating her on becoming a more outgoing person. Wren snubbed it. Perhaps if she refused to acknowledge the sound, her possible insanity would go away.

"Wren, I could never hate you!" Galen exclaimed.

"That's nice," Wren murmured distractedly. "So tell me, how old are you exactly?"

Galen blinked. "Does it matter?"

Wren did not answer.

Galen sighed. "You're impossible." Still, there was no response. "Nineteen, almost twenty," he told her finally.

Wren stared at the ceiling. "A little old for me, don't you think?"

Galen stared at her, speechless. Had Wren always been so…difficult? So annoyingly, impossibly, stubbornly difficult? "It's not even a three year difference," he spluttered.

"Still, wouldn't it seem…scandalous…for a Gamemaker to wind up with an unknown who just randomly pops into society? A little suspicious, perhaps. Especially when she has a coloring similar to that tribute girl who died, and who speaks in a perfectly district-like accent?"

Galen shook his head. "Can't you ever be positive?"

Wren regarded him with wide, innocent eyes. Tilting her head to the side, she seemed to be considering his question in all seriousness. "No."

He turned on his heal and exited the room. "Put her out for a couple hours," the Gamemaker instructed Kale as he walked away. He had work to do, and he'd get it done faster knowing Wren wasn't going to get into any trouble.

"I wonder what that was all about?" Wren drawled as Kale injected her with the sedatives. The doctor shook his head as the girl slipped into the drug-induced stupor.

* * *

Galen stared intently at the television screens. One day, maybe two, and the Games would end.

He clasped his hands nervously behind his back. Three tributes were left-Aura from District Two, Pearl from Four, and that little boy from Three. What was his name again? It started with a "B", Galen thought. But it might also have been a "T" or "Q" for all that he cared.

Not that it mattered, Galen thought, as he focused on the video feeds in front of him. He wouldn't last very long now.

* * *

Pearl tucked a clump of matted, greasy hair behind her ear as she lifted the sword she had claimed from the leftover Career supplies.

Her eyes were rimmed with red, an after effect of the tears she'd shed upon discovering that Aro had been slain.

She had a fairly good idea of who'd done it, too-that district three boy was far too incompetent to have killed someone as powerful as Aro. He hadn't even realized that she'd been tracking him for the past fifteen minutes. No, he just continued to blunder about in a way that would scare away any animal in his proximity.

Pearl hissed in annoyance. How had someone like _him_ made it into the final three? It was time to fix the oversight of her peers.

As she drew closer, Pearl could see that the boy was barely holding on to his life. His hands trembled feebly as he struggled to hoist the axe in his hand.

He was pure skin and bones, and Pearl wondered if he'd eaten even once since the Games began twelve days ago.

When he ripped at the bark of a pine tree and began the process of laboriously chewing at the wood, she found her answer.

Pearl winced and unsheathed the blade. It'd be better to put him out of his misery, though not before she gave the audience a good show.

* * *

Aura couldn't seem to get the blood off her knife. She wondered if it were truly there or if it was a hallucination from a broken brain.

Deciding that it was the second option more likely than not, she stuffed the blade back into its sheath and stood up. She couldn't wait for this nightmare to be over, and there were only two people left standing in her way.

A canon boomed at exactly that moment. Well, scratch that, then. There was only one person left between her and victory.

Aura's lips stretched out in a grotesque, lopsided parody of a smile. Already, she could hear the cheers of the adoring crowd back home.


	21. Day Thirteen

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. That's why I'm writing on a FAN-FICTION site, and you're not reading a published book.**

**Author's note at the end**

* * *

**Day Thirteen: Wren POV:**

"Is the stylist really necessary?" Wren inquired, cocking her eyebrow.

The tall, violet-skinned woman began to splutter in shock and hurt, which only caused Wren to glance at her sarcastically.

"Yes, yes it was," Kale burst in, desperate to alleviate the tension. "Face it, girl, you couldn't walk out of here in you Tribute costume and expect not to cause a commotion. Besides, Hectavia has assured me that these are of the latest fashion."

Wren shook her head in dismay, glaring at the offending garments. Did she really need a pair of eight-inch, jewel-encrusted, bright orange snake-skin stilettoes? Or a dress that seemed to be made entirely out of rainbow-dyed feathers? And surely that three-foot-high, crushed velvet hat with an actual ivy trellis growing out of the brim was a bit too much?

Wren picked up a silky black number that looked relatively normal. As soon as her fingers touched the fabric, it began to pulsate, taking in the cool feel of her fingers and turning a pale blue shade. Fancy, geometric patterns and swirls radiated outward from around her fingers to cover the expanse the longer she held it.

Wren shuddered and dropped the dress. The moment it lost contact with her flesh, it became the same plain black as before.

"Well that's lovely," she muttered.

The sarcasm was lost on the doctor and the stylist, who beamed at her encouragingly.

"Let's get you all prettied-up, then," she gushed joyously.

Wren closed her eyes to ward off her annoyance. The stylist pushed Wren into the tiled bathroom adjoining the hospital room, taking with her a still-sealed garment bag. The former tribute glared at it suspiciously as the gown was revealed.

"Isn't it just splendid?" squealed Hectavia.

Wren blinked at her slowly. "Um…" she stammered. The truth was she didn't know what to think of the gown, which was either the most sensational article of clothing to ever grace Panem…or the worst.

The sleek red bodice was so slashed-up that it looked like someone had knotted a handful of ribbons together. There was a rather garishly dyed slip under the red cloth, made up of brilliantly hued swirls of sea green, sunset orange, and a violet so bright it hurt her eyes. The skirt was composed by layer upon layer of frills and ruffles made of shimmering satins, smooth velvets, and intricately patterned lace. On one side of her torso, the fabric ended a mere few centimeters below her hip, though the rest of it draped until it left a train by her right ankle.

Wren could only stare at herself in abject horror, unable to turn away. This was what she'd condemned herself to, then. A lifetime of garish, disgusting outfits.

Shaking her head, Wren had no choice but to laugh at herself. Of all the reasons she had to be angst filled, from entering the Games to forfeiting her family, it was a simple dress that truly set her off.

Unfortunately, the simple-minded stylist took Wren's self-mocking grin for one of absolute pleasure. "Ooh, I just knew you'd love it!" she gasped happily. "I'll go get you bags, and we can move you out of here."

Wren nodded numbly and followed Hectavia out of the tiny bathroom and into the hospital chamber that had been her residence for the past few days. For the first time, without the mind-numbing fuzz of medicine in her system, she actually noticed how barren the walls were, how cramped the space. She resolved in that moment that she couldn't wait to get out of there, even if it meant taking up residence in _his_ home. After all, that couldn't have been more than a temporary situation, right?

* * *

**Day Thirteen: Galen POV**

"Ah, you'll love the apartment," Galen informed the flame-haired girl beside him. He still wouldn't look directly at her, however. The two were sitting on her cot in the hospital room. Kale had disappeared a while back, as per the Gamemaker's instructions. "It's near the center of the city, you see. It's the top floor, and there are balconies all around the four sides."

Wren nodded, but Galen couldn't help but realize how distracted she was acting. It was almost as if she didn't want what he was offering her. But no-that was absurd. What sane person would rather live in crippling poverty and die in agonizing pain when they could reside in the absolute luxury of the Capitol?

Galen decided that it was time to bring up another subject. Perhaps…his work? "There's only two tributes left in the Game," he informed the brooding girl. "Aura and Pearl, from Districts Two and Four. Remember them?"

Now Wren whirled around, glaring at him with those strange new eyes of hers. "Yes, I remember them," she spat. "As I recall, Aura killed my ally, and Pearl killed me! And what do you mean, asking me if I 'remember them', as if I were a child!"

Galen recoiled in horror. How could he ever have forgotten that the polished Capitol woman beside him had just lost a fight to the death? "F…forgive me," he stuttered.

Wren snorted. "I don't have much of a choice do I?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Galen demanded.

"Oh, you know all too well," Wren hissed. "If I struggle, if I refuse any of this, my life will be forfeit. I'll die unless I play along in your stupid game."

There was a sharp pain in Galen's chest as his beloved's words cut deeply into his soul. He could not comprehend where all of her contempt and anger had come from. She'd just been given a second life, had she not? Why was she so determined to hate him for risking everything to save her?

"It's just that I was happy in District Six, you see." Wren rasped. Galen hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud until that moment. Seeing succumb to tears was even more terrible. "I knew from the moment I heard my name that I wouldn't be back home, and I was-well, no, I was not fine with that, but I'd come to accept it. Knowing that my family is out there, thinking that I'm dead, is somehow worse. I'll never get a chance to find out how the rest of their lives play out. They might all be dead, for all I know."

Silent tears were coursing down Wren's cheeks as a sudden thought occurred to her. "And what about my body?" she demanded at a shocked Galen. "Will they deliver it in a closed casket, so nobody realizes that it's empty?"

Galen chuckled mirthlessly. "No, I had a wax figurine of you made. Shockingly life-like, if I might say so myself. The first time I saw it, I actually believed it was you!"

Wren buried her face in her hands. "That's even worse," she moaned, "knowing that they'll be crying over something that only looks like me."

Galen was at a loss for words. His mind was shattering, realizing for the first time things that should have been obvious all along. Tentatively, he reached out and gripped Wren's shuddering shoulders. To his great shock, she didn't slap away his hand. She did, however, fix him with a death-glare that seemed slightly less evil than normal.

Galen had never been one to provide comfort, but he decided to try. "There, there," he muttered awkwardly as he patted Wren on the back. She snorted. "What?" Galen demanded.

"You're pathetic," she informed him. "You knew that, right?"

"I do now," he said in all seriousness. That elicited a small smile from Wren.

It was almost nothing, Galen noted, but at least it was progress. "Come on, let's get you home," he said.

* * *

**Day Thirteen: The Arena**

Pearl hissed at the sight of her old ally. Aura had the bad manners to still look decently fed and well rested. To the tribute from Four, that felt like a slap in the face.

Pearl unsheathed her sword slowly, engaging in stare-down with Aura all the time. On her hand, Aura twirled her knife, blade flashing in the brilliant daylight.

"Well, go on then," she taunted her enemy. "I want to go home already."

Pearl's nose wrinkled in annoyance. "If anyone's going home, it's me."

Aura laughed her slightly maniacal laugh. "Prove it," she challenged, and charged.

Pearl sidestepped easily, parrying her opponent's blade away. She swung downwards, and Aura just barely managed to jump out of the way. Pearl followed up with another strike, and another. Every time, Aura was forced further back. Each time she retreated, she came closer to the wall of rocks at her back. The District Two girl's chances of survival were getting slimmer by the moment.

As soon as her back scraped stone, however, something changed. Aura leapt forward, slashing past her enemy's defenses, scoring a light cut on Pearl's ribs. As the enraged tribute charged after her, Aura ducked and rolled away.

"Too slow, fish girl." laughed Aura.

Pearl shrieked, losing her temper. Years' worth of training practice went out of the window as the tribute hacked and slashed haphazardly at her enemy. She rushed forward without regard to the ground and suddenly found her foot caught on a rock. Pearl stumbled, losing her footing, and Aura took that opportunity to plunge her knife into her tottering body.

Pearl gasped and crumpled. Aura turned away, allowing her former ally the honor of dying without having to see her killer's gloating face. Instead, she walked away several paces to where she had left her supplies. Aura imbibed from her waterskin and waited for her enemy to die.

Trumpets began to blare suddenly, and Aura grinned, her face alight with the triumph of victory.

* * *

**Alright, Chapter 21 is done! Woo!**

**I didn't take six months to update this story, so I don't feel too embarresed to solicit reviews and votes on my poll.**

**My New Year's resolution is to update each story at least once each month.**

**Bye,**

**Silver**


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